Missing Time
by Rap541
Summary: So Mary has married Henry, and is having her happily ever after. What if one hell of a monkey wrench was thrown into the mix in the form of Matthew Crawley alive? Yes, I am revisiting the amnesia angle but with more marital angst and much less aka ZERO physical assault and torture. This is a straight "what if Matthew didn't die and turns up in 1927 after Mary has married Henry?"
1. Chapter 1

Richard "Dickie" Merton took the mail from the butler and began to go through the letters. Most were for him, but a few were for Isobel and one in particular struck him, because of the address in Cornwall and had fine penmanship. It also caught his eye because it was addressed to Isobel Crawley, not Baroness Merton. He handed the letter to her as they sat at the breakfast table. "You've a letter from a John Gardener in Chepstow. Should I be jealous?"

She smiled in amusement although he had the sense that she was puzzled. "I don't know anyone by the name and I haven't been to Cornwall in decades." She looked at the envelope and Dickie had the sense that something about it brought back a memory. "The handwriting… This Mr. Gardener has as fine a hand as Matthew did." She sighed. "He wrote so well, I hope little George has the gift as well. Now, let's see what this Mr. Gardener wants." With that she wielded the letter opener with a deft hand and began reading the letter.

In seconds, Dickie realized something was terribly wrong. His wife's hands shook as she stared at the letter, and her face had gone a dreadful grey. Bad news, he thought worriedly, likely a death, something unexpected. "Isobel, what's wrong?"

She held up her hand to silence him while she continued to read the letter. Finally, she looked up, her eyes welling up with tears, and she handed him the letter. "Dickie," she said almost breathlessly, "tell me this letter says what I think it says."

He took it and read it, realizing in seconds why she was so startled. So startled and so desperate to not look hopeful. "It says what you think, Isobel, but… you know this is impossible. The man who wrote this is at best ill in the head, he even says as much. At worst, he's a liar." He hesitated, because it was harsh and he had no wish to inflict pain on his wife. "Did you ever have a moment's doubt, Isobel?"

He could see her hesitate. "No," she said finally. "That moment… that moment in the morgue… I was certain. But… I allowed Lady Mary to have her way with a closed casket because of that moment in the morgue where I broke down." She wiped her eyes. "If it helped her, I wanted to spare her. Because… because Matthew never wanted anyone to remember him in a casket. I bore it so she didn't have to. It was my gift to her… But I won't lie and say I checked his pulse, Richard." She suddenly sobbed, letting her head rest in hands. "Oh god, have I made a horrible mistake?"

He got up and moved to her side of the table, taking her into his arms. "If for some reason, this is true, it's a joyous thing, not a horrible mistake. But… Isobel… you do understand this is most likely some sad fellow making claims that can't be proven?"

The last thing he wanted was for her to believe it. The best resolution was that it was some disturbed man, a war vet most likely, who was a confused and damaged soul being encouraged by others. At worst, it was a con man who understood that there was still money to be had from the Crawley family. The letter read like the former, but Isobel had been protective of him in a dark moment and he didn't intend to not protect her in a similar moment.

"I… I know it's most likely not true," Isobel said after a long moment, "but now that's it been said, I need to make certain it's not true. I can't ignore this, Dickie. I don't think it can be true, but I can't pretend I didn't receive this letter."

He smiled and took her hands. "Of course you must investigate this, Isobel. But you won't be doing it alone. I'm your husband and I will be at your side on this."

He just hoped it was some sad fool with problems and not the con man he suspected.

0o0o0o0

It was a pleasant little town, Isobel thought as they entered the town of Chepstow. A little seaside town littered with bohemian artists, fishermen, and quaint pubs and inns. At least, she considered as they pulled up to the small police station, if I had to engage Dickie in a wild goose chase, I picked a pleasant town to do it. The investigative chore would have been much worse in Leeds.

"So we're here," Dickie said brightly. He gave her a careful look. "Isobel, I can do this. You don't have to prove anything to me. I know what Matthew looked like. You've told me what identifying scars he had. You don't have to put yourself through this."

It was sweet, the considerate ways Dickie had. "I know you would do this, but I feel I must. Matthew is my son, and I must do my duty to his memory, and to his wife and son. I need to see this John Gardener and be absolutely certain in my mind that he is not Matthew. I have to be sure."

She couldn't let Dickie handle it. If she didn't see the man herself, she'd always have a lingering doubt that a mistake had been made. The problem was that while she liked Dr. Richard Clarkson as a friend, she had realized within days of meeting him and watching him work that he wasn't her first husband's equal as a doctor. Clarkson had pronounced Matthew dead after the car accident. It was the blood loss that killed him, Clarkson had told her, the injuries from the car crash weren't necessarily fatal but it had taken too long to get him to the hospital. She had looked at the body because Mary had been hysterical. Matthew had been deathly pale but clean, someone had washed the worst of the blood off his face and clothes. There was utterly no doubt in her mind that she had seen her son that night, her sweet, badly broken little boy lying on an uncomfortable table. She'd never had a moment's doubt.

Until the letter. She didn't admit it to Dickie because she sensed he was already concerned that she had the unrealistic expectation that Matthew was somehow not dead, and she didn't want him to worry. The letter was written in Matthew's handwriting. It had genuinely startled her. She had, when Dickie had left the house to tend a chore before they left, made a point of finding Matthew's letters from the war and compared them. She would admit to not being an expert but they looked identical. More importantly, the letter sounded like Matthew. Carefully explaining himself, apologizing for dredging up a painful time, describing his experiences as a man who found himself with no memory of his past and injuries he couldn't explain. Even if John Gardener was just a man with a sad story, he certainly told a compelling story, and he told it with the written cues that Matthew had used. More importantly, the injuries described matched what she had seen that terrible night. The newspapers had all written about the tragedy but all that had been reported was that Matthew had been killed in a car wreck. If it was a guess, it was a damned lucky one. The fact that Gardener had expressed concern about being wrong, that he freely admitted his memory was suspect and that he had no intention of contacting anyone else in the family until she had met with him and confirmed his belief that he was Matthew Crawley sounded like Matthew as well, as did his listing several references in the town he lived at who would confirm his story if asked. Gardener sounded like a man with a genuine belief about his identity, and a man who understood he was asking a difficult question that could cause problems, whether the answer was yes or no. It reminded her of Matthew.

It compelled her to check. She hadn't checked Matthew's body, she had been too overwhelmed at seeing him lying so still on the table to even think of touching him. The casket had been closed, Mary had been adamant, and no one felt the need to cross her. The handwriting made her doubt herself, the contents of the letter forced her hand. She didn't sense any malignant intent in the letter. The odds were very much in favor of her being a silly old woman. If that was the case, then she was a silly old woman who took a long shot chance and was wrong. If John Gardener was genuine, and not a con man, then she would be helping the poor man by setting him straight. And if he was a con man, then she could warn the family. "I find the fact that he listed the local police inspector as a contact as somewhat heartening that whoever he is, he's not afraid to involve the authorities."

"Or they're in cahoots," Dickie said gently. "Although I admit, that this Gardener also listed Lady Barwick as a reference eased my mind about it being an imposter. I knew her as a young man. She's not a fool, and not one that would indulge such a claim from an employee unless she thought it had merit." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "That said, I do hope that you haven't gotten your hopes up, Isobel."

"I haven't," she lied. "But I have to be certain, and this poor man needs a definitive answer as well."

They walked into the small police station and in seconds were greeted by the local inspector, Jeremy Edwards. He was a somewhat short man, with dark hair and eyes and burn scars on his hands that told her he was a war veteran. He led them to a small room away from the bustling office.

"I'm so glad you were willing to come," he said as they sat down. He set a file down onto the table. "Frankly, I've been getting nowhere with the constabulary in Ripon, and John… Mr. Gardener… didn't want Scotland Yard involved."

"I can't imagine why," Dickie said dryly.

Edwards smiled slightly. "Lord Merton, I must tell you, when John approached me with the news that his memories of his prior life had started to return in a meaningful way, my first instinct, three months ago, was to contact Mrs. Crawley… I mean Baronness Merton. John insisted we wait until he was more certain he was right, and I am absolutely certain that if he is wrong, if your wife isn't convinced by seeing him, that he has no intention of pursuing it further." He seemed to consider them both carefully. "I would not have suspected when I met John five years ago that he would become one of my closest friends. He shared his suspicions with me three months ago. It took me that long to convince him to contact you. He's… quite worried that if he's right, that it's somehow a terrible problem."

Isobel found herself suddenly curious about what Inspector Edwards actually knew. "I'm sorry, Inspector… Do you not know who my son was?"

"I know he was in the Army, and that he was never arrested, and that he reportedly died the day his son was born, in a car wreck." Edwards sighed and opened up the folder he'd brought. "I don't mean to be indelicate but this is a difficult story to tell without sharing some unpleasant details. Three days after your son's death, there was a terrible lorry wreck here in Chepstow. It was a lorry filled with human cadavers, meant for a medical school near London. I didn't know this until the whole grisly business but apparently medical schools pay hospitals for unclaimed bodies. The driver died in the wreck and… imagine our surprise when one of the corpses started moving. We took him to the hospital. I'll be honest, I didn't think the man would live. He didn't wake up for close to two weeks and when he did, he could barely speak a word and he didn't know a thing about himself or how he came to be in a cadaver truck. We contacted other precincts with his description but we really had no idea where he was from and neither did he. He became something of a local sensation, the doctor said it was clear from the scars on his body that he had been in hard service during the war. Lady Barwick took an interest… she lost all of her sons in the war and has a soft spot for the occasional veteran who needs help. She offered to take John in as an assistant to her gardener."

"Yes," Isobel said, her patience beginning to falter. "Mr. Gardener explained the origin of his name and that he'd been severely injured."

"Let me be blunt." Edwards's tone was firm but pleasant. "I have no reason to believe he's lying about what he thinks his memories are telling him. I can assure you that he has no desire or need to attempt to trick you or any other member of your family out of money. I wouldn't call John wealthy, except in friends, but Lady Barwick treasures him. He's her head gardener now, he has a cottage, money in the bank and is well liked and well respected. I play chess with him at the pub, and the artist crowd adores his poetry, one of them even wants to publish his work. If he's wrong, and looking at you, I think he might be since I don't see any likeness between the two of you, I would ask that you be kind. Because what he remembers matches what I had learned about your son, I encouraged him to contact you, and so did Lady Barwick, but his greatest fear was opening this ugly can of worms only to hurt innocent people."

If anything, it reassured her on two counts. Edwards was clearly talking about a friend, a man he held in high regard, a friend he was worried about. And, she and Matthew didn't favor each other at all. "I have no intention of being unkind, Inspector Edwards. I made the decision to come here in part because I was worried that this man is most likely wrong and he needs to know that so he can look elsewhere and continue his search. Where is he? We shouldn't let this linger."

"He's in one of the back rooms here, waiting, and probably thumbing through a book from the library." Edwards smiled, but she could see he had more to say. "John is much recovered, but I must warn you, he still has difficulties. He couldn't speak at first, he had to relearn how. On a day to day basis, he speaks well but when he's upset or emotional, he stammers or stutters. He sometimes struggles to find words, and uses words that aren't right. For example if you ask him to say this is a pen, he might call it a pen, or a jacket, or an orange. And that happens more when he's under stress. The less you draw attention to it, the less it happens. The head injury also causes headaches and he sometimes has fits. Seizures, the doctor calls them, although he hasn't had one in a bit. That's the other reason I'd ask you to be kind." He seemed to sense their concern. "There's nothing wrong with him mentally. He routinely beats us all at chess, he writes beautifully… but the speech issues sometimes give him the appearance of being slow. He's not, don't make that mistake."

"He mentioned those things in his letter as well," Isobel said worriedly. She put aside the concerns it caused if the man was actually Matthew. That was asking for problems that didn't yet exist. "Perhaps we should all stop torturing each other with our concern. Why don't you fetch Mr. Gardener so we can see each other and then decide if we have to take this further?"

Edwards nodded. "You're right," he said as he rose to his feet. "There's no reason to put it off. Let me get John." He left the small interrogation room.

Dickie took her hand. "I hope, for your sake, that a miracle is about to happen, Isobel, but please know I am here for you if this is just some poor fellow who is confused."

She squeezed his hand, grateful he was there for her. It will be some poor fellow, she told herself, a poor fellow who will be the wrong height, and have the wrong color eyes, and you'll have to tell him he's not your son, that whatever was misfiring in his injured head was wrong. And then Dickie will drive us home and no one will ever find out that you indulged a silly, unrealistic hope. She braced herself for the truth she had faced before, that Matthew was gone.

And then he stepped into the small room. He looked older, and his hair had that sun bleached look that happened when he spent too much time in the sun. He looked nervous, but his eyes lit up when he saw her stand up. "I… I don't know what to say…"

Isobel grabbed him and pulled him into her arms. "Oh my poor dear boy," she said through her own tears, "There's nothing to say, not yet. Just let me hold you."

Behind her, she could hear Dickie chuckling. To Edwards, who had stepped back into the room, he said with no small amount of amusement, "I don't think she's sure yet, Mr. Edwards, you'll need to let her hug him a bit more."

0o0o0o0

Be calm, Matthew told himself as they all sat down at a small table at the pub, the more excited you get, the worse you sound. Edwards had come with them, to assist with the more awkward questions and just to support him. "I don't… know where to begin…"

His mother wiped her eyes again. "I admit," she said after a long moment, "I have no idea what to ask you, Matthew. Are you well? You look well, but the letter and your friend Mr. Edwards said you were still having difficulties."

Where to begin, he thought. "I'm… much b-better than where I started." He waved his hands around the small pub, taking it all in. "I… couldn't say a word. I walked with crutches… People here were very kind to me… very patient…" It was an understatement. Even before the true miracle of his memory returning, he knew he'd been blessed beyond belief to have been dropped from no where, with no name or history, into Chepstow. "I was very lucky but… Dr. Alford said the s-seizures and headaches may lessen… but they may not." He took a deep breath and let it out, worried how Isobel would handle that piece of news. He'd had much longer to accept the diagnosis. It was hardly the worst problem he had faced, truth be told. Barely being able to say please and thank you let alone express himself beyond yes and no and writing notes had been the worst trial beyond knowing nothing about himself. "It could be… much worse," he reassured.

Much to his surprise, his mother laughed. "Oh my goodness, Matthew… I'm sitting with you in a pub and you're alive. We're having a conversation." She took his hand and held it firmly. "I don't mean to dismiss it. It's a concern, but many people live with epilepsy, Matthew. It sounds like you've been managing quite well…" She hesitated. "That isn't why you hesitated to contact me, when your memory returned, is it?"

That surprised him. "No…. no…." And then he felt his words clench up inside his brain. "I…" He looked desperately at Edwards.

Edwards smiled. "John… Matthew… was worried that he was wrong. That he was reading things in the newspaper and confabulating a back story. It happens sometimes, with people with head injuries." Matthew nodded, knowing it was true, if just partly. Calm down, he told himself, willing the block between his thoughts and his words to dissolve. It wasn't the only reason he'd hesitated.

Dickie Merton, of all people, seemed to sense his discomfort. "I'm curious, I must admit. When did you remember your past, Matthew? Did you just wake up one morning and realize you weren't John Gardener?"

An easier topic. "It… didn't come all at once. Little things… I couldn't connect them… The roses…." He looked at the two of them. "Mr. Emerson, the old gardener, t-taught me how to t-tend Lady Barwick's roses… I remember one day looking at a blossom and thinking 'this one is so lovely, I'd beat Mr. Mosely's roses in the flower show'. And then I was asking myself who was Mr. Mosely." That had been the first moment, almost two years earlier, and every time he'd had a moment, he wrote about it in his journal. "I… knew my name wasn't really John. As things and names started to come to me…Like Jeremy said… I was afraid I was wrong. That I'd hurt some family and be wrong…." It was true, just partly true. Once he had connected to a name, he had used the local library to the fullest extent. It had puzzled him, when he first began to awaken from the amnesiac stupor and recall old friends and family, that no one had ever looked for him, until he found the news stories and obituaries of his own death. And then the other news stories had further stayed his hand. He didn't know how to broach the subject.

Dickie seemed to sense his struggle. "Did you know," the older man said pleasantly, "that your mother and I were married?" He smiled at Isobel fondly.

"I saw it… in the newspapers." Matthew felt suddenly awkward. It was something he'd always wished for, especially during and after the war, that his mother would find someone. He chuckled at his mother's suddenly concerned expression. "I can hardly object n-now, can I? I'm g-glad for you… for both of you…"

Merton smiled. "You certainly took it better than Larry and Patrick did. And don't feel bad about missing the wedding, Larry and Patrick didn't come either, and they had a much worse excuse than yours."

It eased the tension, it let him spit out the thing he needed to say. "I didn't know what to do. That's why… I waited. I'm… this is going to hurt people."

"What do you mean," Isobel asked quizzically. "Matthew, this is a miracle. No one is going to be upset that you're alive. Everyone will be overjoyed, as overjoyed as I am right now."

"Isobel…" Dickie said, his tone suddenly concerned. He gripped her hand. "It occurs to me that Matthew is right to be concerned. I think Henry at the very least might not be overjoyed to find out Matthew is alive." He gave Matthew a sharp, respectful look. "Your friend Jeremy here is right, Matthew. I can see how carefully you speak, that it's difficult, but you have your mother's clever mind. You saw that Mary remarried. That made you reconsider contacting anyone in the family, because it will create a huge mess, made worse that that you're also Robert's heir still, which will make an even worse mess."

"Yes," he said breathlessly. It was so much more than that. He'd been thought dead for five years, he could hardly blame his wife for thinking it. He could hardly blame her for trying to find happiness. They had promised to love each other as long as they both walked the earth, and if he understood the papers correctly, she had stood by what she thought was his grave and watched it be filled. She'd mourned him decently. He had no right to take her from a new love, especially when he was hardly the man he once was. Worse, with him discovered alive, it would cast a pall on her new marriage. It was unintentional bigamy, but it was bigamy, and it would be a bigger scandal than his being found alive and working on an estate as a gardener. And that would be a scandal as well, that the heir to the earldom had somehow survived. Merton was being generous, he knew what he sounded like, on a good day the stuttering and stammering was minimal but he knew that when he met new people that that they assumed he was half witted. It was a terrible mess.

Isobel paled as she considered it, obviously seeing the problems for the first time. "Still," she said firmly, taking his hand as if to reassure herself that he was real, "you did decide to reach out, and these are problems that can be dealt with." She waited a long moment. "What convinced you to take the step forward and contact me?"

Matthew let his fingers encircle hers. It was the right choice, he told himself. It was going to hurt his family but it was also going to bring them joy. "The good… outweighs the bad. Once I was certain, I couldn't live a lie, even though I can't regret the time here, or the friends I've made, the life I've lived." It was strange to feel the words flow so easily. "It was George. I couldn't… No matter the problems it causes…" He laughed suddenly. "I _remember_ when Father died, that I would find myself… wishing that a miracle would happen, that despite his dying, that… one day he'd simply come home and I could have more time with him. George… shouldn't have to feel like that, to always wonder about missing time with father. It's… going to hurt but I couldn't… I couldn't know he was out there, wondering and hoping his father would… show up."

"And any difficulty that comes," his mother said, "I want you to know I support you and I want you to remember that this is a miracle and any pain it causes is worth having you here again."

He knew his mother would say that. She wasn't the one he worried about.


	2. Chapter 2

"What?" Mary blinked, unsure the words her father said actually came out of his mouth. "Are you making some sort of sick joke, Papa?"

Of course he wasn't, she realized as she took in his pale face. He was still recovering his health, and Isobel and Dickie knew that. It wasn't the sort of thing either would play a game over either.

Isobel patted her hand. "I know it's a shock, my dear…."

Mary pulled her hand away. "He wrote _you_. I'm his wife and he wrote _you_ to announce he wasn't dead." If it was true. Isobel could be a sentimental fool at times and Dickie was getting on and tended to indulge her. Still, the very thought made her rage internally.

Isobel was taken back, almost as if Mary had indulged her wish to slap the older woman. She reached into her purse and came up with a letter. "Mary," she said carefully, "He wasn't sure until he saw me, he told me that. He was worried, desperately worried, that he would be hurting a woman who had already been devastated." She held out the letter. "This is what he wrote to me, Mary. You can read it. He contacted me because if he was wrong, he was only hurting one person." A certain firmness came to Isobel's face. "He… learned about your marriage. He didn't want to embroil the family in a huge fuss when he wasn't certain."

"Isobel, are you certain?" her father asked, his face pale and his voice almost shaking.

She nodded. "We had a photo taken." She held it out to her father. Robert took it, and paled even more as he looked at it.

"I can see why you're convinced," Robert muttered. "Good lord… and he's been working as a gardener? And had no idea who he was and we… certainly hadn't been looking for him."

"In fact," Isobel added as she passed the photo to Mary, "I think he has done well for himself considering his difficulties."

Mary looked at the photo. She felt almost faint. It was Matthew, there would be legal niceties of proof to be met, she had no doubt of that, she could see that concern already on her father's face, but it was true. Matthew is alive, she told herself, trying to let the truth of it settle in her mind. Matthew is alive, and I'm married to Henry. The photo was Matthew standing in front of some sort of gallery. He looked a little older, but well enough. Don't cry, she told herself, not here, not in front of Papa and Isobel.

Distantly, she heard her own voice ask, "What difficulties?" When there was no answer, she repeated it more firmly, "What difficulties does he have?" Please, she prayed as she looked away from the photo and met Isobel's eyes, tell me he's married a sweet village girl in the quaint seaside town he's been living in these last few years. Then he can forgive me and I can forgive him, and we're even. But as she looked at her mother in law, she somehow sensed that she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Mary…" Isobel was clearly struggling to find a way to say it. "He was so badly injured, he didn't remember his own name for years. He had to relearn how to speak, and… it's difficult for him. Not impossible, but he does struggle for words."

"I rather got the impression," Dickie added, "that it's as though there's an extra, unexpected step between his thoughts and what he says, and he either speaks quickly and trips over the step, and stammers or stutters, or he negotiates the extra step carefully and ends ups responding slowly. There's nothing wrong with him intellectually."

Isobel nodded. "There's quite an artist crowd in Cornwall and one of his friends encouraged him to try writing sonnets and poems and his work is becoming quite popular. And franky, I think some of his difficulty was due in part to how shocked he was." She sighed. "I think he's quite usef to second guessing his thoughts."

"What else?" Mary pressed. There was something else, that was clear. Isobel was overjoyed but there was something dampening it and Isobel wasn't one to care about Matthew sounding well spoken. God knew there were enough war veterans in their circle who had voices that trembled or lacked voices at all due to their injuries. And not when the alternative was talking to his gravestone.

"He's not fully recovered, Mary, and his doctor thinks there are certain things that will always be problems." Isobel took a deep breath. "There are gaps in his memories, and he may not ever get those back. He still has severe headaches and… he has epilepsy from the head injury. It's not severe, he told he can sometimes go up to a month without having an episode. He manages quite well but there's no cure and it's unlikely to heal on its own." Isobel wiped her eyes. "He actually had an episode, a seizure, while we were there. I think I found it more upsetting than he did. I think he was embarrassed, but he recovered quickly and apologized for frightening me, and his friends were quick to reassure me that it wasn't a bad episode at all. He has many friends."

"Of course he does," Mary murmured as she returned her eyes to the photograph. That was Matthew, he made friends easily no matter what his circumstances were. He'd come to Downton as the disliked interloping heir and won everyone over, her included. It was no surprise to her that Matthew had made friends even with the troubles Isobel mentioned. And they weren't terrible troubles, she realized. Her first thought, her first desperate hope, was wrong. That meant she was most likely right about why Matthew wrote his mother and not her. She knew Matthew, she knew him so well, and it was increasingly difficult to stop from screaming out the problem.

Her thought when Isobel began mentioning his health difficulties was that something was so wrong, he had secreted himself in Cornwall rather than burden her with his presence. But he simply didn't sound that ill. Which meant it was the other problem, the real problem. The problem named Henry. "Why didn't he return with you?"

She knew why. So did her father, she could tell just by his expression. She just wanted one of them to say it. As the silence lingered, her shock evolved into anger. "He knows about Henry. He knows I'm married and with child to another man. He's overcome a devastating injury, finally coming to his senses, only to find out his wife was disloyal. Admit it!"

"Mary!" Robert rose to his feet as he chided her. "How can you say that?"

"Everyone will be saying it, Papa! That is, when they're not calling me a bigamist or worse!" She turned to Isobel. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Isobel pursed her lips. "No, you're not right, Mary. Not entirely." It was, Mary realized suddenly, one of those rare moments where despite their physical dissimilarities, she could see where Matthew resembled his mother. Isobel was angry and she had that same, careful, closed off look that Matthew had. The older woman looked at her, her eyes sharp. "He didn't want you, or the rest of the family, to be utterly gob smacked by the news. Yes, he knows that you've married... I think he was hurt by it but he certainly isn't angry with you over it. He understands that we thought he had died. He waited for months to contact me because he thought it would be easier for all of us if we thought he was dead."

"He didn't say that," Dickie interjected.

"He didn't need to," Isobel hissed. "Mary, he is well aware of the pain this will cause you. The only thing that overcame that was the idea that his son would grow up without knowing his father. I thought Matthew was being silly and oversensitive to think his family would be anything other than overjoyed to see him. Clearly I was wrong."

"How dare you?" Mary jumped to her feet. "You have _no_ idea what I am feeling right now!"

Isobel also rose to her feet. "Are you feeling anything about Matthew? Or just yourself?"

Without thinking, Mary slapped her face. Much to her surprise, the older woman slapped her back, rocking her with the force of it. Before she could raise her hand again, Merton stepped between them and her father pulled her back. She shook off his hands roughly, and ran out of the room. She kept the tears from falling until she got to her bedroom, and then she began to sob. Matthew was alive and she was overjoyed except that she was married to another man.

The light of the day was waning through the windows when someone finally knocked on the door. She didn't respond, she merely curled around the pillows on her bed. The door opened.

"Just set the tray by the vanity, and leave us alone, Barrow," her grandmother said pleasantly. Then the older woman stepped around the bed and took a seat near the bed. "So… today was a bit difficult for the whole family. Henry is downstairs, by the way. He wants to come up and check on you and I asked him to wait until you had some time to collect yourself."

"Collect myself?" Mary sat up on the bed. "Granny, Matthew is alive. He works as a gardener, and has become a poet in Cornwall. He's been alive this entire time and I've… I've betrayed him. Over and over and now I'm married to another man… Granny, we swore we'd love each other as long as we both walked the earth." She began to cry again. "Oh Granny, when Isobel said there was a problem, that he had difficulties, I actually prayed that he'd fallen in love with another woman and married her, just so we could be… even in our betrayals. But we're not… He's going to hate me. I can't bear it. And then there's Henry… and the baby…" She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

"Oh Mary…. You haven't betrayed Matthew. Dickie and Isobel had been quite clear, Matthew hasn't lost his wits at all. He will understand, more than I think you expect, that you believed he was dead. We all did, including his mother and including me. We even put up an expensive stone marker. It's not as though he was lost at sea or went missing in the war. Matthew could never hate you, not for this." Violet spoke as though it was obvious.

"This? I'm a bigamist. I'm carrying another man's child, and what must poor Henry be thinking?" Henry, who did love her, and who in a world without Matthew satisfied her, and yet she was already comparing the two and finding Henry lacking.

"Henry is worried for you," Violet said after a moment, "and worried for the child you're carrying because you've gone all day without eating and you've been upset and shocked and in an actual fight with Isobel. She feels quite terrible, I assume it was her fault entirely?"

Mary shook her head and allowed herself to smile. Violet no doubt already had the full story. "No… I will have to apologize to her. She has every right to view this miracle as exactly that and I was… focusing on… things that aren't as joyful."

"Well, you do need to apologize but let her stew a bit. She tends to crow over it when she's right," Violet nodded to herself as if settling the issue. Then she smiled slyly. "Did you enjoy it? Giving Isobel a slap? I've never indulged but there's many a time my hand itched."

After a moment Mary laughed, really laughed. "Oh, I felt awful in seconds but in that moment, oh yes I did… and I suspect she's already admitted to enjoying giving it back. Am I right?"

Her grandmother chuckled. "Of course." They were both quiet for a long moment. Then Violet spoke, her tone gentle, "I know this will be difficult. It will be difficult for all of us, but you especially. People will say unkind things. You are not at fault in this, Mary. We all thought Matthew was dead. We all encouraged you to live again and find new love. For heaven's sake, I even cut short a trip to return home so that I could encourage you to marry Henry."

"Do you regret that now?" Mary asked, suddenly curious. She hated the regret she'd felt all afternoon as she alternated between crying and rocking herself against her pillows.

"No. And yes." Her grandmother sighed. "I don't regret encouraging you to marry Henry because you love him and there was no way to know that your life and trials would rival those of mythic princesses. You do love Henry. He loves you, and Matthew was dead and gone and you were far too young to spend your life alone. At the same time, if I knew eleven months ago that we would find ourselves starring in a poorly written serial drama… Sometimes I don't know who is more unlucky, you or Matthew. But there's no decision to be made today. Things may be different with Matthew. It's been five years and he's lived a much different life. He'll have his own concerns."

There was another knock on the door. She tried not to flinch as Henry stepped into the room, holding a tray of sandwiches. "Am I allowed to come in? Or do you two need more time?"

"Oh I think it's time I went downstairs and told Isobel she's not getting an apology any time soon," Violet said as she got up. She gave Mary a long look. "However difficult it seems today, allow yourself the joy of this event."

Henry waited until she left to speak. He took a seat on the bed next to her and took her hand. "She's right, you know. You have every right to be happy about this. So tonight, we're not going to discuss any of the problems this presents. Not a one. Tonight, I want you to think about all the good things that this means. Your first husband is alive. I know you loved him. I never pressed you about him because I could see the pain in your eyes whenever he was mentioned." He smiled reassuringly at her. "Do you think it would be easier to talk about him, now that he's alive?"

How best to answer that, she wondered. Because as kind and as charming as he was being, Mary could admit, at least to herself that she bristled internally when Henry called Matthew her first husband. It almost felt like he wanted to stake his claim on her, and mine her for information to compete against Matthew. She shook it off after a moment. You're not being fair, she told herself. He's right that we should focus on the good things and any decision made tonight would be a disaster. She just wasn't sure her heart hadn't already started to decide. She pushed that away as well. You haven't even seen Matthew, she told herself as she looked at Henry. He could be different, in fact it was almost guaranteed that he would be different. And she had more than him to think about in any decision. There was George, and Henry, and the growing child in her belly to think about as well. Finally, she shook her head at Henry. "I think I'd rather we just try to calm down. Tell me, while our lives were being shattered here with shocking revelations, how was your day selling cars?"

He leaned in and kissed her. "Quite good, actually. I just didn't realize I'd be trumped so badly by the Crawley family drama."

What a way to describe it, she thought tiredly.


	3. Chapter 3

Matthew looked at the little stuffed bear, the story book, and the toy sand pail and shovel sitting on the small table in his cottage. "Am I… spoiling him?" he said to his friend Jeremy and his wife Amelia. It felt like he was overdoing it with presents. "I thought who… doesn't like a bear? And I'm going to show him the seaside and I doubt he has seaside toys…Then I thought 'what if it rains?' We'll b-be stuck in here…" He took in their amused expressions. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

Amelia, a pleasant red haired woman, grinned. "I think you're acting like a doting new daddy. I'm sure giving a little boy a story book and a few toys won't spoil him, John." She shook her head. "I mean Matthew." Her Scottish lilt grew more pronounced. "I'll break the habit, I will."

"D-don't worry," he waved off her words. "I've been John for a long time." Even now, five days after his mother and Dickie Merton had confirmed he wasn't just fabricating a backstory for himself, he didn't know quite how to handle it with people who knew him as John. They weren't wrong to call him by the name they knew. Half the time he still thought of himself as John, he still reacted to being called John even though the name Matthew had been rolling in his head for close to a year. Images, memories of events had taunted him for some time, with never quite enough information for him to make the leap. Then his last name, Crawley, came to him. Once he had that, it was a matter of looking himself up, and the more things he found, the more he was able to put names to faces and images. The giant house was Downton Abbey. The dog that always snapped at him was Isis. The beautiful woman who haunted his thoughts and dreams was Mary…

There were gaps still, but by the time he'd written the letter to his mother, he had little doubt that he was Matthew Crawley along with being John Gardener. He hadn't really needed his mother to confirm it. He had needed her to confirm that the good outweighed the bad. He still had doubts, truth be told, but the die had been cast. His family knew he was alive. And he could admit a certain amount of relief. The uncertainty was gone, he wasn't making up a story and hurting strangers with lies.

He was just hurting his family.

"When will your mother arrive?" Jeremy asked as he poured the three of them cups of tea and brought them to the table.

"Sometime… before…" He took a deep breath and let it out. "Before lunch. They'll stay at the inn tonight and tomorrow and go home on Monday."

"Will you go with them?" Amelia asked. She seemed to catch his discomfort. "You need to start thinking about it, you know."

"They are your family," Jeremy added. "I understand your concerns…"

You don't, Matthew thought tiredly, you can't. "I will… but I think we… should go slowly." How to explain that as much as he loved his family, his reappearance in their lives was a problem of some magnitude. "I am… going to visit. Soon. I think… we all need to get settled first."

"Has this wife of yours sent any word?" Amelia asked, a touch of pique entering her voice.

"Don't…. don't be harsh," Matthew said. He leaned back in his chair. "It's only been five days since… she was told and… She has another husband." And while he hadn't been keeping up with changes in the law for the last five years, he was still certain it was illegal for Mary to have two husbands. As much as he wanted to see her, it was her marriage that had stayed his hand. His mother had wanted him to simply get in the car and return to Downton and he hadn't been able to do it. There was more to it than Mary, although she, and all the legal problems were a large part of his hesitance. The truth, the real truth, was that he hadn't been able to face giving up his life as John Gardener. Not that quickly. He'd made his choice, for George's sake, and he knew it meant returning to Downton. It meant picking up the mantle of responsibility, of accepting the responsibility of the earldom and the estate he'd never wanted and was now even less capable of handling. It was when his memory returned that he realized that the last five years of his life represented the first time he'd ever lived without the expectations and requirements of others pressing down on him. There was a freedom in being brought so low. He liked being a gardener. He liked seeing the roses grow and intertwine on the trellises and seeing the landscape bloom and know that it was due to his work. He liked writing poems and going to the bohemian gatherings with the art crowd without ever needing to care in the slightest what people would think. He missed his family, he missed Mary at his side and his heart ached for the poor little chap who he didn't even remember, but he didn't miss the life where all of his choices revolved around pleasing others. "It's… awkward."

"Of course it is," Jeremy said easily, giving Amelia a dark look. "But leave that aside for now. Your mum is bringing your little boy and you'll have a good time with him."

0o0o0o0

Tom looked at the two women in the car and wondered what he had gotten himself into. Even George seemed to catch the unpleasant mood. The little boy was curled up in the front seat with him, while Mary and Isobel sat in stony silence. "Look George," he said with forced cheer, "there's a farmer's market, just like Downton Village's." The little boy looked with interest but didn't say a word, no doubt sensing the tension.

"Tom, why don't we stop?" Isobel said suddenly. "We can stretch our legs a bit, and maybe George and I can get some treats for his father. Would you like that, George?"

George nodded quickly, and smiled, no doubt understanding that shopping for treats for someone else likely meant getting a treat himself. Tom stopped the car near the many stalls, and in seconds Isobel and the little boy were gawking at fruit.

Mary got out of the car and took up a position next to him. "Are you planning to lecture me as well, Tom?"

Tom shook his head. "Not lecture, no." It was a bad idea, he had agreed with Isobel on that, although he had different reasons. Isobel felt it was too confrontational for Mary to come with them, that Matthew was too uncertain about things to handle the marital situation along with meeting his son for the first time. Tom understood Isobel's point, and he allowed that it was possible Matthew was in that delicate of a state since he had apparently been without his memory for some time, but he had taken Mary's side on the argument, despite his misgivings. There was never going to be a perfect moment, and it had to be done. He just wished the two women weren't at each other's throats. "I know you're angry with Isobel. I know that this is painful and that there's huge legal and social problems. I know you're worried about Henry and the coming baby, and I _know_ you're struggling with how you feel about Matthew… And you need to put all of that aside. Or some of it at least."

She sniffed. "Really? That's easier said than done, Tom."

"Consider what is really important," he said softly, taking care not to chide her. "George is meeting his father today. You always said it broke your heart that Matthew never got to do more than hold George. Whatever is wrong with Matthew," and he suspected Matthew wasn't as tiptop as Isobel made him sound, "and however angry you are with Isobel, you need to remember that today at least is about George and making this easy for him. This has to be confusing for him, and you and Isobel scowling at each other are turning this into a punishment for him. Do you want him to remember this day like that?"

After a long moment she sighed. "You're right, Tom. Of course you're right. I just don't know how I can face Matthew. I buried him. I remarried. I'm having Henry's child." She sighed again. "I know this isn't fair to George, but… I just couldn't face doing this, seeing Matthew, with every member of the family and all the servants lined up to watch our every move. And Henry. I won't lie, the idea of trying to talk to Matthew with Henry there… it feels like a disaster waiting to happen and unfair to both."

It was, Tom realized, a surprisingly reasonable way to look at it. And accurate on how awkward it would be. "How is Henry… handling the news?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "You would know better than I. His words to me are how he knows I'll do what's best. I don't think it's even occurred to him that it's not as simple as my telling Matthew I've remarried and he's free to move on. And it's not as simple as Isobel thinks, where I merrily toss Henry aside with a wave of my hand and return to Matthew's side as though we're the same people we were in September of 1921." She gave Tom a sober look. "This may all be moot, you know. Matthew made contact with Isobel because of George. Not me. He can simply and easily divorce me for adultery at this point. I can hardly protest, now can I? It might even be for the best."

He could hear the hurt in her voice. "I understand that this is a unique situation, and that you feel hurt but I wish you and Isobel had talked more rationally about it. I read the letter Matthew sent her." At her questioning look, he went on. "He was worried if he was wrong, that he'd be devastating a grieving woman. He contacted Isobel because he didn't want to hurt the entire family, if he was wrong about his identity then we would never have known about it. And he was right, if he'd written you, you would have told everyone and we all would have been on the road to Cornwall in minutes and then what if he was wrong? He was thinking of you, of… not putting you through the worry about Henry until he had to." It was Matthew all over, Tom thought, Matthew worried about everyone but himself.

Mary maintained her anger for a moment and then suddenly chuckled. "Goodness, isn't that him?" Tom could see tears welling in her eyes and he looked away so that she could gather herself. She daubed her eyes with a handkerchief. "I don't want to spoil this for George, I don't plan to. I mean that, Tom. I just… I just can't know he's here and not see him. No matter what this accident has done to him, I have to see him. All the problems… I can't even consider answers until I know he's real again."

She's still in love with him, Tom realized. He wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. Mary and Matthew had been madly in love, Sybil had often laughingly marveled at it, that she sometimes felt like their intensity made everyone else fade in comparison. He had to admit, as much as he liked Henry Talbot, and Henry was a good friend and business partner, he didn't think Mary and Henry had the same sort of passion. He didn't think that, with Matthew dead and gone, that the difference in passion made a difference. He considered himself open to finding another wife but he also accepted that it would be very different if it happened. He'd even considered some new partners and he didn't discount them simply because they weren't Sybil, but he also accepted that he'd never be in Mary's shoes. Sybil was gone, and as much as his heart ached, he was certain beyond a doubt that she was gone. "Promise me you'll be careful," he said after a long moment.

She smiled wryly at him. "Weren't you the one who said loving someone gives them the power to hurt you?" She smiled more as George and Isobel made their way back from the various stands, clearly with their arms full. "What sort of fun did you two get up to?" she said to George.

"We got pears and cherries, Mama!" George held up his sack for Mary to look in. "Grandma Izzy got some pies and biscuits for later but she let me try one. There's gingersnaps and gingerbread, too."

Tom was amused to see Isobel blush as she set numerous boxes and parcels in the car. "If I know Matthew," she said with some embarrassment, "he'll have spent the last few days planning this weekend, and he won't have bothered to fill the pantry. And he looked thinner than I think he should be." She glanced at Mary, as if bracing herself for harsh words.

Mary, to give her credit, merely smiled and nodded. "He did look a bit thin in that photograph." She picked up George. "And let's be honest, I think a certain someone just might help eat all this food. What do you think, George?"

"Maybe…" George allowed, a smile coming to his face. Tom smiled as well. Mary was declaring a truce by not chiding Isobel for buying food and treats as though Matthew was as small of a child as George. He thought he understood that impulse as well. Isobel was nothing if not a doting mother and no doubt was feeling some unreasonable guilt over the whole business. Both Dickie Merton, and Violet had already told her repeatedly that no one could have expected her to check her son's body for signs of life. There had been a fairly dreadful apology from Dr. Clarkson as well, that had ended with Robert helping the man drown his sorrows in the library until the wee hours of the next morning.

0o0o0o0

Mary looked at the stone structure Isobel was pointing at. "That's… a very nice cottage." Somehow she had it built up in her mind that Matthew was living in some filthy shepherd's shack or a fisherman's shanty by the sea, but the stone house was a well kept building. She felt relieved, one fear was gone. Matthew might have been working in a job well beneath his skill but he hadn't been living in abject poverty. The cottage was as nice as those in Downton Village proper. Certainly not as grand as Crawley House, or the Abbey, but it was a well maintained cottage that any of her tenants would be happy to live in.

"Well, he is the head gardener at Lady Barwick's estate," Isobel said, a hint of pride in her voice. "I understood that he was promoted several years ago when the old head gardener died and while Lady Barwick doesn't keep as much staff as you do at Downton, he has several men under him."

Tom nodded along to that. "I know he was taken on out of charity, but we've both been estate manager long enough to know he wouldn't be head gardener if he couldn't manage the work."

She found herself nodding as well. Downton had a few charitable cases that worked on the grounds or in the stables. One or two had done well enough to be promoted, but it was always due to their work, not the sympathy that had gotten them in. As the car slowed, she saw the door to the cottage open and…

Then she saw him. For an instant, it was as though her heart stopped. He hardly looks older, she thought in amazement. His eyes were as brilliantly blue as she remembered. He was smiling, pointing at the car and clearly telling something cheerful to the man and woman that had followed him outside. His clothes, a shirt, jumper, and trousers, had the bohemian look that so many in Cornwall chose. He has artist friends, she remembered Isobel saying something about it, that he had artist friends and he writes poetry. She could even dimly recall a phone call from Edith, not only sounding genuinely happy about the news but also somehow intensely impressed that Matthew was 'the poetic savant John Gardener'.

His eyes sparkled when Isobel and George got out of the car, an incredulous joy lit up his expression as he looked at his little boy. She felt tears rising up and willed them away. It was absolutely worth the long, irritable car ride to see his face light up with such joy. It was worth the car ride and more just to see his face, she realized.

She got out of the car and his mouth dropped, in that stunned beyond belief way it had the day they had first met. She had to laugh, it felt right, and in seconds he was smiling at her. "I…" His voice trailed off. Then he flushed with embarrassment.

He struggles for words, she recalled Isobel saying that, and he wasn't expecting Tom or I and now I've shocked him speechless. That had never been her intent in coming, to embarrass him. "Matthew, you look so well… I couldn't not come to see you." She stepped forward, feeling oddly shy.

"M-Mary…" Their eyes met and she almost blushed with the intensity of his stare. He dropped his eyes after a long moment. Breathlessly, as though the words were coming from very far away, he spoke. "I didn't… expect you." He pointed at Tom. "Or Sybil… I mean… "He blushed. "I'm s-sorry, I mean Tom… I get words wrong."

Another fear left her, although she was still worried. Speaking was difficult for him, that was clear, but it wasn't a horror show. People would need to show patience but he could speak, and speak clearly. She had worried that Dickie and Isobel in particular were putting a brave face on the speech issue. He seemed no worse than many other men injured in the war. And then Tom's earlier words chimed in her mind.

"George," she said as she took his little hand and led him to Matthew, "This is your papa."

George looked at Matthew as if sizing up whether he wanted to buy a particular piece of livestock. Then he looked at her, his serious little face all the more a reminder of his father. "But you said Papa was in heaven with the angels, Mama." Then he turned back to Matthew. "Mama said you went to heaven. Were you naughty? Is that why God made you come back?"

She could see Matthew struggling to not laugh. "I was very n-naughty, George. Because… I missed you… Finally, they s-said I could come back… but only if I did a good job as your papa."

George considered it. "Do you like gingersnaps? And oranges?"

Matthew nodded solemnly. "I d-do. Would you like t-to see my house?" He leaned down and held out his hand. After a moment, George took it and smiled at Matthew.

Damn it, Mary thought suddenly, letting her hand rest on her not quite flat stomach, as wonderful as it was, and she was close to overwhelmed, there was a huge problem. Two huge problems, Henry, and the baby to come.


	4. Chapter 4

It was, Tom thought, quite endearing to see Matthew and George together on the seaside beach. George was warming up to Matthew. The day before, Tom rather thought the little boy was on his best behavior. This morning, he'd been a bit more temperamental, no doubt out of sorts from all the travel and sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. Matthew had handled it well, setting the right tone. They were currently attempting to catch the scuttling crabs, when George wasn't picking up some sea tossed piece of flotsam and asking his father what it was.

He wasn't exactly watching them for a reason, other than that he got the idea that no one was entirely comfortable leaving Matthew alone with the boy, including Matthew. Some of that was simply nerves, Tom had no doubt about that. At dinner the night before, at one of the small restaurants that seemed to service the many seaside inns that catered to people visiting the beaches, Matthew had been surprisingly awkward. Some of that was the speech difficulty, Tom had the suspicion that Isobel, and her doting concern, was somehow making it worse, but he also had the sense that Matthew just had no idea what to say. Mary had been the same, quiet throughout the meal, and seeming to drink in Matthew's presence, while Matthew did the same. It made for a long dinner of just he and Isobel describing what had been happening over the last five years that didn't revolve around Mary and Henry.

What struck him as odd, as he leaned up on the dock rail next to one Clifford "Cliff" Sims, a landscape artist and one of Matthew's new friends, was that no one from Matthew's prior life had been left alone with him. One of the new friends was always there. He'd grown up in a small town in Ireland, he had a feeling he understood what some of it was about. Matthew _was_ well liked in the small town he'd found himself in, he was well liked and clearly had many friends, all of whom were well pleased that the man had a turn of good luck. At the same time, it was a small town like Downton Village and villagers had a tendency to protect one of their own, especially someone they liked and who had clearly had some trouble in the past. His friends were no doubt worried that outsiders, even family outsiders, would be cruel to their friend. He understood that, that was one reason he had been careful to let Matthew set the pace for the weekend, but he thought the family in general had put in a good show of not being monsters. Yet it was clear that Matthew's friends were taking care to make sure he was watched and Tom intended to get to the bottom of it.

"Mr. Sims," he began as he took up position on the dock railing.

"Oh please call me Cliff," the young man said with a shake of his head. "My father is Mr. Sims."

Tom smiled slightly. "And I am Tom, not Mr. Branson, Cliff." It was a good start, he thought as the dark haired fellow turned to look at him and not the beach. He pointed to Matthew and George, who had discovered the delights of building a sand castle while Mary and Isobel watched from beach chairs. "I don't mean to question anyone's concern but… Is it by plan that someone is always here? We're not planning to whisk him back to Downton, as much as I think his mother would like to insist."

Cliff smiled. "The pretty highborn wife who married another man probably needs a bit more time, if I read the scene correctly, am I right?" There was a hint of annoyance in his tone.

And Tom felt the need to defend Mary. "It was five years. There was a funeral and we had no idea there was no body in the casket. She wore black for months and we weren't sure that she'd ever get past it. She loved him madly." He gave the man a dark look. "It wasn't like Matthew went missing. His death was a nightmare for all of us. If you're holding it against Mary that she married another man years after she buried her first husband, you're wrong."

Cliff seemed to consider what he said carefully. "You're right, I was out of line. But I am concerned that he presents a serious problem to your family." The man gestured to himself. "I'm no son of a lord, but I am the third son of a successful London businessman. If my eldest brother, who died in the war, was suddenly found to be not dead, there would be problems. And John is apparently the heir presumptive to an earldom. And an Oxford law graduate, although I admit that isn't much of a surprise." As Tom raised his eyebrows, Cliff nodded. "He's clever, as I imagine you know, and he speaks like an educated man when he does speak, and he writes like a man who used to rely on his writing ability. But… To answer your question, I'm not here because I'm terribly worried you people plan to be nasty." Cliff chuckled. "I rather think Mrs. Crawley has that well in hand."

"I suspect she does," Tom found himself nodding in agreement. "So why are you here?"

Cliff shrugged. "John… Matthew, I should say, asked some of us to be around this weekend. I think he's over worried but he's a good friend and I understand why he asked."

"Why did he ask," Tom prodded.

Cliff gestured out to the two figures on the beach. "He has epilepsy, Tom. Did Mrs. Crawley mention it?" He waited until Tom nodded. "He is worried that he'll have a seizure in front of that adorable little son of his, and he wanted someone to be there who knew what to do and to not panic so that the lad wouldn't be scared of him." He pointed at Isobel. "She's a good mum, she loves her son dearly, I can't deny it, but mothers don't always handle things well… It happened in front of her, last week, and it wasn't bad at all, I've seen John have bad fits and that wasn't one, and she was more panicked than… I don't know what. I understand it, but he was… horrified at how worried she was and that's made the fear worse."

And that was Matthew all over, Tom thought, both amused and worried. "Is it that terrible?"

Cliff shrugged. "I'm his friend, not his mother. His eyes roll back, his face twitches, and he falls to the ground and shakes. It stops after a minute or so. When it's bad, when you need to call a doctor, it's when it lasts for over five minutes or if he cracks his head going down, or if he doesn't wake up after a few minutes. I wouldn't want the curse myself, but he's had bigger problems. Hell, I can remember when a good conversation with John was getting him to say yes and no and maybe my name." He took in Tom's expression and smiled. "It's… a manageable problem. Awkward for an earl, I get that, but even at its worst, it didn't happen every day. It does happen more when he's worried, and knowing his mum does get upset…. We all agreed he shouldn't have to worry about his little boy being upset. It worries him and he's my friend and as long as he's with that little boy, one of us will be here to make sure no one fusses if he has a spell." Cliff seemed somewhat chagrinned. "You and the wife… you both seem like you'd handle it well, but I do worry about his mum."

It suddenly rose up in Tom's mind, how used to the situation the man standing next to him was, and how likely it was that the normally calm Isobel Crawley hadn't handled such an episode well. He remembered all too well, when Matthew had been wounded in the war, that Mrs. Crawley had always put a brave face on and been in Matthew's corner, pushing him to get as well as a man with a broken spine could get, only to have the poor woman sobbing in the car as she was driven home. He also could remember how Violet Crawley hadn't let Isobel stay alone in her home for close to a month after the funeral. Everyone had been focused on Mary and George, and Mary had been a mess but so had Isobel. "I appreciate it. If I don't get a chance to thank the others, let them know that. It has occurred to me this last day how lucky Matthew was to end up here. The people here have been very kind to him."

Cliff smiled pleasantly. "It's not as though he doesn't repay the favors, you know. I paint landscapes for example, and not only has he helped me lug my supplies to the best spots, he's found a few of those spots and suggested them. I have a display in the gallery right now where he's written exquisite verses to accompany the paintings."

"That still surprises me," Tom admitted. "Matthew was always clever, but I don't think I ever considered him creative beyond having money making ideas."

Cliff considered that. "Maybe he's not the man you knew. All I know is that he's a good friend and he was badly worried about scaring his little boy. And I don't think he was planning on the pretty wife coming at all. And look at that, she's walking over to us."

Tom saw it as well, that Mary had left the beach and was heading towards them. She was in one of her more casual outfits, which meant she was still quite overdressed in comparison to local tastes but she did look sharp. She glanced coolly at Cliff and more warmly at him. "George is quite delighted to show Matthew his favorite game of picking up dirty objects and putting them in his pockets, and Matthew is teaching him to build some sort of sand castle fortress, so I thought I might look around the town a bit." She looked out over the beach scene, a slight smile coming to her face. "They're very sweet together… I knew Matthew was going to be a good father."

"But you don't want to stay and watch them, Lady Mary?" Cliff asked. There was a certain bite to his tone that Tom caught and Mary certainly caught.

She gave Cliff one of her icier glares. "I'm not Matthew's mother, Mr. Sims, and as it happens, I think it's important he knows that I trust him to be with our son without my being there. Whatever arrangement we end up making, Matthew will be seeing his son. I assume, based on the fact that Matthew lives alone, and that he looks so well despite his difficulties, that he can be left alone with his son without something untoward happening. I mean, I assume he doesn't have a car, so I don't have to worry about that, now do I? What fuss can the two of them get up to on the beach?"

Cliff grinned. "Well, aside from getting sandy, not much. But I will say," and he pointed to the clouds off in the distance, "that it does look like it will storm this afternoon. Storms can blow in pretty hard here. If it get dark, you'll want to get under cover."

"Thank you, Mr. Sims," Mary said easily. With that she strode off towards the town's main thoroughfare of shops and galleries.

Cliff whistled low. "She's a cool one… They were in love, you say?"

"He'd have walked on hot coals for her, and my wife, her sister, said she lost her heart before she even realized she had one." Tom smiled at the memory, Sybil laughing over how silly her sister had been to drag it out. He was beginning to feel very sorry for Henry. Mary was facing a choice, he understood that, but he suspected it wouldn't be that hard for her and Henry's only crime was in loving Mary and not being Matthew.

0o0o0o0

It was a nice village, Mary couldn't deny that. It looked prosperous, although she suspected it would bustle more when spring turned to summer and there were more tourists wanting to play on the beaches and swim in the ocean. She was rather pleased that Matthew had completely agreed with her that the water in April was far too cold for swimming and had even against wading until she gave the nod over it. It was too cold to wade but George needed to learn that on his own and had. The next time his father said not to do something, he'd remember his father being right. Matthew was going to be a good father, she'd never doubted that. It was the high point, knowing that Matthew and George were enjoying their time together.

It made the essential problem slightly easier to bear. Matthew was alive and well, or well enough, and she was married to Henry. Henry, who had done nothing wrong except love her and marry her. Matthew was doing well. He had built himself a life out of nothing, he had friends who clearly cared deeply about him. Without consciously thinking of it, she found herself leaving the shops and heading back towards Matthew's cottage. He lived near the beach but not on it, a short walk to the Barwick estate where he worked. And she realized with concern that the puffy white clouds had rather suddenly grown and darkened, and the wind had picked up. A storm was blowing in. She picked up her steps, but the cool wind became suddenly cold and smelled of rain. Sure enough the sky opened up and she found herself running to the small cottage.

"Matthew!" she shouted as she pounded on the door. It occurred to suddenly that they might not be inside, that he and George could still be on the beach in the middle of the maelstrom. "Matthew, open the door!"

The door opened, and he pulled her into the house and into his arms, and for the longest moment, all she cared about was that she was holding him, his scent filling her nostrils, filling her mind with so many memories. He held her tightly, and she knew, knew without even needing to think it, that he was feeling the same as she was, that they were together, complete once again.

Then she had to push him back, her feelings on fire but her concern growing as she heard the rain pouring down. "Where's George?" she asked worriedly as she looked over his shoulder.

"He's at the inn," Matthew said easily. "We saw the storm coming in… Mother thought he needed to eat and maybe have a nap… I came back here to get cleaned up for dinner." He was in different, nicer clothes, she realized. He was also looking at her worriedly. "George is perfectly safe, Mary. The inn keeper knows what to do when storms come. This is a… bad storm, but it will blow over in a few hours." He looked her over, his concern growing. "You're soaked to the bone, Mary. Get by the fire and warm up. I have t-towels…" He led her over to the fire and left her there while he went into one of the other rooms. She numbly began to understand his concern as she felt the cold water seep to her skin

He came back in seconds, holding a stack of towels and some clothes. "The storm w-won't let up for hours. Get dry. I don't… have any lady clothes so here is my robe and some pajamas. I'll hang your clothes to dry in the washroom and you can get warm by the fire." He gestured to the small hallway. "You can use m-my room to change."

"No, I can wait it out," she replied, not wanting to accept his care so easily. He was the one that was injured, missing for years, so lost he didn't even know his name, and yet he was protecting her and helping her. She then shivered uncontrollably.

"Don't be…" She could see him visibly struggle, the first time since she had come inside his home. "Don't be s-silly. You have to be careful." At her surprised expression, he gave her a sheepish, embarrassed look. "I know…" he said finally, looking away from her. "I know… about Henry. I know you're with child. I know I… have made a mess of your life. But… you're wet and cold, and you're having a baby." He held out the stack of clothes and towels. "Just change… I'll m-make tea. We'll talk."

She took the stack of towels and went into his bedroom. It was exactly how she didn't want to have the conversation. He had managed to disarm her completely with his knowledge. No doubt, she thought fiercely as she dried herself off, Isobel couldn't wait to tell him about it. No wonder his friends have all been giving me the eye, they all think I'm the worst wife in the world. And now I'm stuck in his house, wearing his bloody pajamas and robe, looking like a total fright. That said, she couldn't help but notice that his bathrobe and pajamas were very similar to the ones she remembered him wearing. More worn, but it struck her, that he couldn't have known why he chose them when he did. And they were warm and she couldn't help but pull the robe around her, enjoying the warmth.

She stepped into the living room, and took a seat on the small sofa. It really was a nice cottage, she thought as she looked around. There was an armchair with a lamp nearby, an oil lamp not electric but that wasn't a shock, no one in the town had electricity and she could see the signs of Matthew's presence everywhere. There were books on the table with the lamp, with marked pages, and more on a small shelf. There was also a desk in the corner that was very neat, much the way his desk at his office in Ripon had looked. There was a lovely painting over the fire place, of a field of brilliantly blue flowers, and another on the far wall that was darker, a verdant woods scene that looked like a fairytale.

Matthew stepped in, with a tray. "I made tea," he said as he set the tray on the end table. He sat down next to her. "Are you warm enough? I c-c-can…" He seemed to concentrate. "I can get you a blanket."

"I'm fine," she said. She drank some of the tea, noting it was the same blend he'd always preferred. Overhead, she heard the rain pounding down. It would be hours before it let up, she had been to the sea side before. That, and Matthew's expression, told her that they weren't going to sit in silence. At least he looked to be dreading it as much as she was. Time to get this started, she decided. "Did Isobel tell you? About Henry?"

His eyes widened in surprise, and then he grinned at her, in that cheeky way. "No… I read about it… in the papers. Mother… didn't want to discuss it at all." He leaned back, and looked down at his cup. "I'm… not angry. I'm not. I mean that. Please don't believe I'm angry. I don't b-blame you. It's not… it's not like I went missing. This is… not a normal situation. You didn't do anything wrong. You thought I was dead. You waited years to remarry. If… someone… is telling you that you were wrong… They're wrong."

She felt a flash of anger, and forced it away. It had gotten so natural, to dismiss what a man said. She'd forgotten that with her at least, Matthew had always worn his heart on his sleeve. He wasn't saying it because it was expected, he was saying it because he meant it, or at least wanted to mean it. He was hurt, she could see that, but he believed what he was saying, that he couldn't blame her. Part of her wished he would, wished that he would rage at her. "How can you not be angry? I've betrayed you in the worst possible way."

0o0o0o0

Even on bad days, Matthew tried to remind himself that his problems in the grand scheme of things weren't terrible. He was able to walk, he could see and hear. He could speak well enough, and it was a mercy that the crack to the skull that had taken his memory for so long hadn't rendered him a halfwit. At his worst, early on, he'd always been able to write, if not speak. It had eased over the years, but now, sitting in front of his wife, he wished for the first time in a long time that he wasn't so tongue-tied. "You thought… I was dead," he repeated, hoping he was getting through to her. He knew her expression all too well, it was the same as the one on her face when she told him about Kemal. "You… fulfilled your vows. It's not…" He considered carefully what to say. "You didn't m-marry him right after the funeral. I can't f-fault you for marrying five years after you thought I died. I never… wanted you to be alone. And unhappy. You love him." He didn't like saying it, because he knew it was true. He could see it plain on her face. His Mary could never be forced to marry a man she didn't love. Despite the vow he'd made to not pressure her, he took her hand.

She clenched it. "I love him, and I love you, and I have no idea what to do. Every decision I make, every choice, someone gets hurt."

"Then… don't make any decision now." He hated saying it, because if there was one thing he wanted, it was for her to simply choose him. But he couldn't let her do that, not without being certain she knew who he was now. "It's not… just the two of us now. There's George, and this… new child. And Henry. And… I'm different."

Mary looked him in the eye. "I don't care. You look well, frankly you look healthier than you did. Being outdoors more clearly suits you. If you think I'm put off by the stutter, I'm not. You always stammered, and I wouldn't care even if you were mute. And Isobel told us about the epilepsy. I don't care. It sounds manageable enough…"

"You haven't seen it," and he was suddenly uncomfortable with the reality that the more time they spent together, the more likely it was that she and George would see it happen. "But that's… not what I meant." He took a deep breath. "I like my life here. I… earned this life. I have a book of poetry about to be published… Newspapers and magazines buy my poems… They b-buy them because they're g-good, not because I'm… heir to the earldom. I never really… had choices. Before. I had to be earl. I had to go to war… I know there's many reasons why I _have_ to return to Downton but… I don't… know if I can return to that life."

He didn't know if he could explain it to her, he knew she loved Downton almost beyond reason. It wasn't the place, if it just meant going north to York, it wasn't a problem. He couldn't face resuming a life where his job was to wait until Robert died to do anything, or face constant arguments if he pressed the point, all while dressing in uncomfortable clothes and associating with people who bored him and looked down upon him since he was a common lawyer from Manchester. It would be worse now. Now he was damaged goods, the regrettable interlude between Robert and dear George. There was no way to abdicate, even if the entail laws had been broken, the reality was that he wasn't so damaged that he couldn't be earl, and Robert wasn't the kind of man that would attempt to disinherit him, not with George waiting in the wings. Estates were dying left and right. As much as he loved his family, he didn't welcome assuming the burden of a life he had never chosen. There were things he missed… Mary, his mother, the family, precious little George, but he didn't miss the silly pomp and circumstance at all.

Mary seemed taken back. "You were unhappy?"

"Not… not with you." He knew he wasn't saying it well. "I just… never had the chance to choose for myself… what I wanted." There had never been many choices, truth be told. He'd read for law mostly because becoming a doctor had been a lost cause once his parents realized he was clever but with no stomach for medicine. There'd been no choice in being Robert's heir, he'd had to give up the life he was building in corporate law just to be the heir. He'd volunteered for the butchery of war because he had to, there was no way to escape the obligation as the heir to an earldom. He had no illusions about what it would be like now. He'd be consulted and ignored since he was just technically the heir. No one, Robert in particular, would listen to him unless he had others backing him up. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to fight it out over an estate he'd never been comfortable in owning, or a way of life he'd never liked. "I like how I live now. I earn what I have… I didn't earn Downton. I did earn this place…." He had earned it with hard work and skill and he liked how that felt. He'd earned the money from the poetry as well, it didn't come easily, and he'd been surprised by the recognition it had earned him.

"It sounds like you were unhappy," Mary said after a long moment. "That you were trapped by our expectations. That you wanted something different."

It was fair. She was sounding reflective, a rarity for her, he knew that all too well, and he didn't want to beat her up over the fact that he had once wanted to live somewhere other than Downton Abbey after they married. "I accept my obligations….b-b-but I've lived a different life since. I… don't know if I want the old life." He took another deep breath. "I like it here. I… don't know that I want to change again."

He was tired of bending to the will of others. At the same time…. "Do you love him? I… I don't want you unhappy…."

Mary was quiet for a long moment. "I do love him… but I love you as well and I don't want you unhappy." She leaned in and kissed him and he found himself returning the kiss with fervor and in seconds they were groping and kissing each other.

At least until there was a knock on the door and they pushed away from each other as though they were naughty children caught in a moment. He went to the door, only to find Tom, wet, and cold, standing at the door. "Sybil! I mean… Tom… come in."

"Is Mary here?" Tom asked worriedly. "She didn't come back to the inn. We were worried."

"I'm here, Tom," Mary called. She managed to look as though she was lounging by the fire. "I got caught in the storm and came here because I thought this is where Matthew would take George but I understand he's at the inn. I was soaked so Matthew lent me some clothes while mine dry. There's also tea. Would you like some tea?"

Tom looked at her knowingly and then at Matthew. "Tea would be lovely."


	5. Chapter 5

"So," Robert said as they all took seats in the dining room, "Cousin Matthew plans to visit next week so that some of the legal issues can be sorted out." He gave Henry a sympathetic look. "He's going to spend two weeks. He said he thought we should all take things slowly, and he doesn't want a fuss but he had no objection to having Edith and Bertie here at the same time. He thought it would be nice, actually." Robert paused and turned to Mary. "I didn't notice any speech issues. He spoke quite well… Although the phone reception was terrible."

"It's more noticeable when he's surprised," Mary said easily. "He wasn't expecting Tom and I, and was a bit tongue tied at first but once he was settled, he was easy to have a conversation with. Cousin Isobel was being a bit… doting with her concern." She waited a moment. "What sort of legal issues do you plan to deal with?"

Not the marriage, Henry thought with no small amount of irritation. Since her return from Cornwall four days earlier, she had been quite silent on the topic. He was trying not to press her, it was upsetting and appalling all at once and the newspapers were starting to allude to it as well. "I was curious as well, Robert. It seems fairly straightforward. Cousin Matthew resumes being the heir presumptive once it's accepted he's alive, which seems relatively easy."

"It's not that simple," Robert retorted. "The government will need quite a bit of proof before we can stop paying the death duties. God knows we'll probably all be dead before they actually refund any of the money paid. And his assets in the estate went to Mary with the understanding that between Mary and I, it would all fall to George but now, we have to settle those assets back on him and with the entail laws scrapped, it can't be assumed, legally anyway, that Matthew will pass his half of the estate to George." Robert shrugged nonchalantly. "Now, realistically, we all know Matthew will have no problem with resuming the prior arrangement, but Murray says it all has to be reaffirmed. There's also Matthew's competency that has to be affirmed."

"His competency?" Tom asked. Henry found himself curious as well.

Robert nodded. "He didn't know his name for years. That makes for concern. He has seizures. That's another concern."

"Those both come from the head injury," Mary said, a warning tone entering her voice. "And while he's not living the life we might have expected, the reality is that he's been quite successful particularly considering he started with nothing. Less than nothing, really."

"I don't anticipate any problems, "Robert said. "Frankly, most of the legalities with the estate will be fairly seamless, with the exception of the death duties. And he seems determined to be congenial. He doesn't even plan to stay here. Said he thought it would be awkward and that his mother was happy to have him stay at Crawley House for his visit."

Good, Henry thought darkly. It was bizarre enough that Mary's long dead husband was now alive, worse that his wife's initial response was to go visit the fellow, and having him stay at the estate seemed a bit much. He was willing to be a good sport but there was a limit.

"Poor Matthew," Tom said, chuckling just a little. At Robert's raised brows, he added, "She was a bit… fussy over him. Understandable, of course, but he's really quite well. I think he was bearing it with some good humor but you know how Isobel is when she's found a problem to work on."

"He is welcome to stay here, Papa," Mary added. Robert gave her a look, and Henry wanted to. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable resolution to the problem, having Matthew stay with his mother. It even promised to keep Isobel busy, something everyone in the house often wished for. Mary looked at her father intently. "He _is_ welcome here, Papa. This was his home and it will be his home again, you're already setting that in motion. If Matthew finds staying at Crawley House to be awkward, and he might, if for no other reason than I suspect he might find having a stepfather a bit trying, then he's perfectly welcome to stay here. God knows there's plenty of room."

It was how she phrased it that made Henry wonder. He had never paid much attention to the estate business. He hadn't married Mary for her money, he had married her because she was the witty, lovely woman that had stolen his heart. That she was wealthy was lovely, but he had done well with racing, and if the business with Tom wasn't yet breaking even, it was only a matter of time. In the meantime, she managed the estate that her son would inherit. It all worked out well… but Mary's money had come from her dead husband, who was no longer dead. "I'm afraid I've never understood the financial situation here. Mary owns half of the estate due to Matthew's will, but how did Matthew come to own half of the estate when he was already set to inherit it?"

And where did a bloody country lawyer get that sort of money? That was the real question, particularly since no one had ever suggested Matthew Crawley was anything other than a pleasant chum who died young.

"I suppose we never really talked about it with you, Henry," Robert said, his words careful. He looked down at his plate. "I made some unwise investments…" That wasn't a shocker, Henry thought. Mary's father was a nice enough fellow but not exactly clever. The older man went on. "Frankly, I lost quite a bit of money and I was close to selling this place and moving the family to a smaller house. At the same time, Matthew received a rather shockingly large inheritance and he essentially gave it to me to save the estate. I gave him half ownership in the estate to allow him some say, and since he was going to inherit it anyway…" Robert's voice trailed off. "Matthew's will, such as it was, left his share of the estate to Mary but with his being alive, it goes back to him. Some of the issue is that there's been an increase in the estate's wealth since some of the projects we implemented have been successful so there's a question of whether that money should go to Mary or to Matthew." Robert waved his hands. "I don't see any real difficulty. If I know Matthew, he'll simply insist the difference goes to Mary or gets reinvested back into the estate. More likely the first. He's always been generous to a fault." Robert seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether he wanted to continue on with the topic but then he decided. "I know the issue of the marriage is… delicate."

"That's a delicate way of putting it, Papa," Mary sipped her glass of wine. "I assume Murray has an opinion."

"Murray thinks you need a lawyer more versed in divorce law," Robert said after a lengthy pause.

Thank god someone finally said it, Henry thought, and thank god it didn't have to be me. God knew he didn't want to hurt Mary, she had been through so much in the last few weeks, but while it was joyful news, it was also a scandal. Not a small scandal either. He wasn't a lawyer but he was certain that Mary couldn't be married to two men.

Robert managed to look as awkward as possible. "He works in estate law, so he admits it's not his area of expertise but he believes you're still legally Matthew's wife."

Henry nodded but kept his expression neutral. Mary didn't like to admit it, but she had a warm heart underneath her cool exterior. Of course she was upset that her first husband was alive but damaged. No one could blame her for feeling something for the poor man. He knew from experience that when Mary loved a man, it ran deep, and no doubt knowing the fellow was now feeble made it worse. She was in shock, of course, and worried what people would think if she didn't take the man back, despite his clear deficiencies. No one wanted to be cruel, but he could see that whoever Matthew Crawley had been before his accident, he was a mere shadow of that now. Everyone, Mary, Isobel, even Robert and Tom, were all too quick to talk about well he seemed, glossing over what sounded like severe problems. Memory loss, epileptic seizures that happened often, an inability to speak… The man was an Oxford educated solicitor who now grubbed in the dirt for a living and wrote doggerel for the artistic sorts that had befriended him and taken pity on him. It wasn't the poor chap's fault, of course, and he was lucky to have regained enough of his senses to know his own name. It didn't change the fact that he was clearly a burden, along with being a threat to their marriage. Fortunately the burden aspect was mostly Robert's problem. The big issue would be preserving the estate for George, and while Robert wasn't a mental giant, the lawyer Murray had some sense so Henry was certain that problem was in hand.

The marriage on the other hand, was his problem. "I'm sure there's no question that Mary's at no fault for this situation." He put his hand on her knee under the table, to support her.

Robert nodded. "It's awkward and scandalous but as long as it's dealt with in a reasonable amount of time, the talk will fade away quickly."

"Dealt with?" Mary shook his hand off and glared at her father. "Is that all this is to you? A problem?" She got up from the table and stormed off. Henry started to follow her but Robert waved him down.

"Let me talk with her," the older man said. "I'm the one who set her off, after all."

Henry nodded and followed Tom into the library. He poured the both of them drinks. "Tell me, Tom… should I be worried about what Mary will do?"

That Tom blanched just a bit was all the answer he needed. The man looked down into his drink. "I think Mary will make the decision that is right for her. I don't envy her at all. No matter what she does, she will hurt someone she loves."

"You think she'll choose him," Henry let that roll around in his head. Tom was much like Charlie, an honest fellow who didn't go out of his way to be hurtful but when pressed would speak his mind.

Tom seemed to consider his words carefully. "I'm not entirely sure. I'd… forgotten what she was like with him. I think she'd forgotten what she was like with him."

Henry took a long drink, his thoughts rolling in his head. "Is he such a shining knight even now? Damaged as he is?"

Tom took a seat on the small sofa. He smiled ruefully at Henry. "The irony, Henry, is that you're the sort of fellow Matthew would have gotten on with quite well. A shining knight? No… but he was a good friend of mine, to where I can't be anything but happy to know, no matter what his troubles, that he's alive and well. And… they loved each other with joyful abandon. My Sybil used to marvel at it, that Mary had found someone that she could be like a playful girl with, when it seemed like she'd spent her life preparing to be a cool, collected lady of the manor." Tom shrugged, his expression suddenly serious. "He's not so damaged that he doesn't function, Henry. I won't… I won't take sides in this. Like I said, no matter who she chooses, she hurts someone she loves, and she hurts someone I consider a dear friend. You're my dear friend, and Matthew is my dear friend and I won't choose between you two. But if you plan to fight for her heart, Henry… Then please don't assume Matthew can't or won't fight you for her." Tom took a longer drink. "She loves you both. Be careful how you tread. He's not a shining knight, but he is a good, decent man and Mary loved him enough to marry him and have his child."

That was fair, Henry thought darkly as he sipped his own drink. Tom was a good friend and he respected that the man wasn't willing to throw either of his friends over. Tom, unlike everyone else in the house, was willing to admit that there was a fight ahead, a fight he intended to win.

0o0o0o0

Robert knocked and then opened the door to Mary's bedroom. He hadn't entered her room without asking in over a decade and he twinged just a little at it. She was sitting on her bed, staring at some photographs. She frowned at him. "Are you here to tell me to grow up and be sensible, Papa?"

"No," he said tiredly as he took a seat next to her. "I'm afraid there's no sensible answer here. I assume that Matthew is as well as Isobel made him sound?" He had wondered if Isobel was painting a happier picture than what was really happening but Mary and Tom had both been relieved and cheered to report that Matthew wasn't greatly impaired at all. He had been heartened by the phone call as well, that Matthew sounded like himself. An even better barometer was little George being as pleased as punch to chatter about his Papa Matthew, what fun they had, and how his papa knew all sorts of clever things. The problem was obvious. If Matthew was well, or well enough at least, the decision Mary was facing was much more difficult.

Mary sighed. "He's more than well, Papa. Oh, he stammers and stutters, and the more upset or surprised he is, the more likely he'll call you by the wrong name, but he's there, mentally. You don't have to be afraid that he's not able to manage. It's… startling, really, how working outdoors in the gardens seems to suit him. He looks very fit and healthy." She sighed again. "He dreads coming here. He dreads leaving that little seaside town where he's made friends and built himself a life."

"Wouldn't you? Dread leaving a place where you had made a home?" Inwardly, Robert hoped Matthew hadn't phrased it that bluntly. It was a mess already.

Mary wiped her eyes. "He wasn't happy here, Papa. He never wanted to be earl, to run the estate. He never wanted to be a soldier, we all knew that. I'm not even certain he ever wanted to be a lawyer but he was good at corporate law and he had to give that up when Patrick died. I don't understand why he's even coming next week if he felt that way. If it wasn't for George, we would never have known he was alive." She sniffled. "And now I'm torturing poor Henry…"

He could see the truth of that, although he suspected Mary was choosing to see it in its worst light. He put his arm around her, hoping to comfort her. "Why do you suppose Matthew stayed here, if he was so unhappy?"

"Duty," Mary muttered through tears.

"No," Robert said easily as he held her. He just hoped he wasn't about to make things worse by picking a side but after talking to Matthew, he had say something. "Duty would have kept him keeping his hand in. He stayed here because he loved you and wanted to be around you, even when the two of you were determined to make each other miserable. When I spoke with him today, he asked about you first, not George, and he was worried about you." He hesitated, because it was a delicate topic he was about to touch on. "You'll have to make a choice, Mary. And I don't envy you because it's not an easy one."

"It's not just me to think about, Papa," she said after a moment. She let her hand rest on her gently curving belly. "There's a child to think of. Henry's child…"

He wondered suddenly how much less difficult her choice would be if she wasn't pregnant with Henry's child, and then chided himself. It was an unfair and unkind thought. "You have time to consider your options. When Murray comes next week, you and I, and no one else, will have some time alone with him to talk about the legalities. He's wise enough to know it's not his area of expertise, but he can give you some direction and unlike all of us, he doesn't have a horse in this particular race." He made a point of looking directly into her teary eyes. "You're not alone in this, Mary. I will support you in whatever decision you come to. Just… don't make a hasty decision based on what people might think. Whether you choose Matthew or Henry, my grandchild will be welcomed into our family the same way all of my grandchildren have been welcomed. Although it would be nice if this one didn't call me Donk. I hate to say it but not only do all the children call me that, I think Matthew picked it up from George."

Despite the tears Mary laughed. "You're stuck now, Papa. He's worse than the children. He spent the whole weekend calling Tom by Sybil's name."


	6. Chapter 6

Stay calm, Matthew told himself as the porter took his new leather suitcases that were full of his new fancy clothes and loaded them into the train. You're not a little boy and this isn't the first time you've ever gone on a train ride before. It's certainly not the first time you've gotten a train in King's Cross. He was glad to get onto the train, out of the crowds, and into the first class compartment, pleased for the first time that Robert had arranged such an expensive ticket. He settled into the comfortable seat and nodded to the attendant. "Th-th-thank you."

The attendant made a somewhat sour face. "Will there be anything else, sir? Before we leave?"

He flashed on why the fellow was so irritable and it made him cross. He was quite respectable looking, after all, wearing a casual suit that was comparable to one he would have worn before the accident, there was nothing to suggest he didn't belong in the first class car… except the stutter that was much worse than normal because he was tired and nervous. And people who stuttered were usually simple minded, that was the stigma. The attendant wasn't the first who got annoyed, with the exception of his book publisher and agent, everyone he dealt with rolled their eyes at him as soon as he spoke. As irritating as it was to have both his mother and Robert offer him money to get new clothes for his visit, money he was thankful he could turn down as unneeded, he knew if Robert hadn't called ahead that he wouldn't have gotten his suits tailored at all. At least not at that shop. The proprietor had needed to take his assistant aside and ended up finishing the fitting himself, all the while muttering how he appreciated Lord Grantham's patronage. It didn't happen in Chepstow, because people knew him and knew he wasn't slow witted. The attendant was annoyed that a half wit was in the first class car and he couldn't avoid taking orders from the fellow. Which means, Matthew thought with no small amount of amusement, that I must put him to some trouble.

"I'd… l-l-like a n-n-newspaper. A-and t-t-t-tea. Th-th-thank you." He smiled at the man, hoping it wasn't too much of a smirk. The man grimaced and nodded. He didn't even want the newspaper, it just made him angry that the man assumed so much about him over something so meaningless. He had forgotten how it was. He had also forgotten how much worse it got when he was tired and nervous. I can take a nap during the ride, he decided. It would be a few hours, and hopefully he wouldn't look like death warmed over when he reached Downton. There would be a dinner that night, a dinner where he would no doubt be expected to make some sort of conversation with the family. It was going to be a right mess if he couldn't put two words together.

The compartment door opened and he looked up, stunned to see Edith step in. She was magnificently dressed, almost radiant. Older, but he realized with no small amount of pleasure, it was almost as if she had finally grown into her looks. Her face lit up and she pulled him to his feet. "Oh Matthew, I knew I saw you on the platform! I knew it!" She pulled him into her arms and hugged him fiercely. Her good cheer was overwhelming. After a long moment, she let go of him and looked him over with a keen eye. "You look so well!" She smiled at him. "And you look like you're tired, and tired of hearing that particular comment."

"I… am. On b-both counts." Edith wasn't just happy, he realized, she was radiant. A man entered the small compartment, a nice looking fellow with brown hair, that was holding a little girl. A face he recognized from newspaper stories, Bertie the newly invested Marquess of Hexham. And the little girl was… He blinked, almost shuddering from the force of his thoughts. There were gaps in his memory, places where it all went dark. Seeing his mother, seeing Mary and Tom, there had been moments where memories had just popped in his head. Edith had been on love with Michael Gregson, a nice enough chap but married. No one had really talked about Edith in their visits, just that she had adopted a child and married rather shockingly well, but looking at the little girl, he understood exactly whose child it was. The years suddenly felt very long, and his dread of returning magnified.

Edith sensed his discomfort, which was obvious. "Let's all sit down and talk then. We had to come to London for some business with my paper and since we were planning to visit Mama and Papa, we decided to go straight there. And then I saw you on the platform." She gestured to the man holding her child. "Matthew this is my husband Herbert Pelham, Marquess of Hexham."

"I'd shake your hand," the man said pleasantly, "but little Marigold is a handful. And call me Bertie, Matthew." Bertie grinned. "Only my mother calls me the Marquess of Hexham."

They all started to sit down when the attendant came rushing in. "Your lordship," the attendant sputter to Bertie, "it's not necessary for you to share a compartment with… this man. I can arrange better seating."

Edith's eyes narrowed and she gave Bertie just a hint of a nod. Bertie nodded back and smiled thinly at the attendant. "Now why wouldn't we want to share a compartment with our dear cousin Matthew? We have much to talk about, actually, what with my assuming control of Brancaster and his being heir presumptive to the Earldom of Grantham. Now why don't you fetch us some tea?" He waited until the man left to turn to Matthew. "I know you stutter and stammer. So did a dear friend of mine from school and he had no head injury to blame it on. He always said that once people stopped drawing attention to it, it got better, and I remember distinctly how clever he was and how people assumed he was stupid merely because he stuttered. That fellow was being dreadful to you, wasn't he?"

"Not… dr-dreadful, just…" Matthew stopped. Bertie was genuinely angry on his behalf but the last thing he wanted was to create a bigger scene. "It's n-not worth the t-trouble."

After a moment Bertie nodded. "Fair enough. But do let us join you. After all, we need to get to know each other, and Edith has been beside herself in wanting to pry you away from the Daily Reader."

"I'm not afraid to take advantage of our being related," Edith added as she took her child from Bertie and sat down across him. "Did Mary mention that Michael left me control of his newspaper?" She waited a moment and then laughed. "I'm sorry, did Mary mention anything about me at all? I know how she is."

He was pleased to give a positive answer. "Yes… She m-mentioned the paper and… Bertie. But…" He had to admit, as good as it was to see Edith, he was genuinely puzzled by her interest in his poetry. He had started writing in a journal at his doctor's suggestion and the poems had started as a sort of experiment. He had written some for his friend Cliff after being quite struck by the man's landscapes and Cliff had been so pleased, he'd shown his work to some of the poets at the artist retreat and it had snowballed from there. The money from the Daily Reader was good, if he had never regained his memory, it bumped him firmly into the respectable middle class. It also meant he wasn't returning to Downton as a crippled burden with empty pockets. "You… like my poems?"

"I adore your sonnets, Matthew." She said it so matter of factly, he was genuinely surprised. "You wrote something that, when I read it, it touched me. It made me think of Marigold and how bereft I was when I was without her." She recited from memory. " _The hint in the mirror, of someone there and not there/Why are you gone, why am I alone/when you look in the mirror, do you see the hint of me and wonder the same/Will the mirror break, and take down the walls between us."_

He flushed with embarrassment. It had never occurred to him that people he knew were reading his poems. It made the decision to publish his book under the name of John Gardener easier. His publisher had been happy for his memory to have returned, but had been horrified at the idea of acknowledging his real name. After an hour of arguing, complete with the man offering him more money, he'd finally acquiesced. "I've… n-ever understood why p-people pay me for it."

Bertie smiled. "My cousin, the prior Lord Hexham, actually liked your work as well. I admit to not having much of a head for art, but Edith has expanded her paper's readership with some really stunning articles about the art scene in London."

"And it would be a coup to land you. Whatever they're paying you, I can exceed that." Edith jiggled little Marigold. "It's so funny actually. I'd been planning, once Bertie and returned from our honeymoon, to take a trip out to Cornwall to see if I could tempt the reclusive poet John Gardener into writing for my paper. So even if you hadn't been already coming to your senses, we would have found out you were alive. Isn't that odd?"

It surprised him, how much that eased his mind. As Edith rattled on about her paper and how much she wanted him on board, he considered her words. It was meant to happen, he was meant to be found. As much as he had worried about the upheaval he would bring, even if he had made the decision to stay John Gardener, fate was against it.

0o0o0o0

Bertie Pelham firmly believed one major advantage he had, his entire life, was that people didn't realize he was a keen observer of people. People underestimated his intelligence because he was quiet. The Crawley family, with Edith the exception, underestimated him a great deal, and it hadn't escaped him in the slightest that his opinions and views were more publically respected merely because he was Lord Hexham and not just a land agent. Privately, he suspected the entire lot of inlaws considered him to be a pleasant if not terribly bright fellow who had taken Edith off their hands, and he was content to leave it at that. But as he sat at the dining room table, the family all awkwardly trying to pretend it was perfectly normal for Matthew to be sitting there with them, it was rather amusing to watch everyone dance.

Matthew, to give him credit, was bearing up well, despite his obvious exhaustion. Bertie had the impression the chap might have preferred to have taken a nap on the train ride rather than listen politely to Edith explain her version of events of the last five years. That Edith had shared some of the things he knew were painful told him far more about how she trusted Matthew than anything she had said when they had gotten the news.

"So a fellow from the government will be here on Wednesday, to meet with us and verify you're officially alive," Robert said. Robert was unabashedly pleased, Bertie realized. It made sense. Matthew was his heir, and son in law. Not just that, Edith had described him as the son Robert never had, the brother she had wanted. Robert's worry had seemed to vanish once it was clear to him that Matthew wasn't impaired. Everyone else seemed relieved as well, and Isobel was clearly overjoyed if a bit doting.

"Will… that take the entire d-day?" Matthew asked.

"Have you already made plans to keep busy?" Mary asked, her tone surprisingly pleasant. She was dressed elegantly, Bertie preferred Edith every time but he'd never say her older sister was ugly. She had taken pains, that much was obvious. It was also obvious, the moment Matthew stepped into the house that Mary couldn't keep her eyes off him. Matthew was less obvious, if only because he was clearly tired and his mother was acting like a broody mother hen tending a chick that had escaped the nest and returned worse for wear.

"Not… plans set in stone," Matthew smiled at her. "George wanted… to show me his house. And his pony…. He said you take him riding?"

"He's a bit young but I was up on a pony when I was four, isn't that right Papa?" Mary said.

"Only because you insisted, Mary," Cora said. She looked at Matthew. "We didn't plan many social obligations while you're here, Matthew. You can see George as much as you like."

"And the legal niceties are spread out over a few days," Robert added. "I was thinking, with Bertie here and you, that we might have a small shooting party. There's still a few men out here who like to hunt. I thought it would be fun."

"Then it's l-lucky I bought hunting clothes," Matthew said. He turned to Henry, obviously trying to be cordial. "D-do you hunt, Henry?"

Henry wasn't pleased with the question and Mary blushed suddenly as if the question was more ribald than it sounded. He gave Matthew an odd look and their eyes locked. Bertie wondered if it was the declaration of war they'd all been expecting. Keeping his gaze steady, Henry nodded. "Of course I hunt. I met Mary at a shooting party. How did you two meet? Mary's never said. A family dinner I presume?"

Bertie almost smiled but kept it off his face. Henry was underestimating the man he was sitting across the table from. Bertie wasn't certain what Matthew intended for Mary. Truth be told, he didn't much like his sister in law, and as much as he didn't wish problems on others, he tended to agree with Edith that Mary Crawley had earned some of the social embarrassment the situation was throwing at her. Matthew Crawley hadn't, and as much as Edith insisted it was a love match that rivaled their own, the relationship had taken and was taking much harder blows than most sane people ever had to consider. If he didn't like Mary, and felt indifferent to Henry, he found he quite liked Matthew. Matthew seemed like a good chap, and he treated Edith decently despite his wife, and Henry clearly had dismissed him as a pathetic dimwit despite the reality that Matthew spoke slowly and stuttered, but made intelligent, well thought out points. Bertie leaned back in his chair and waited.

"N-nothing… nothing so charming, I'm afraid." Matthew grinned more fully at Mary, and after a moment, she blushed and laughed, disarmed. Oh, Bertie thought, I didn't expect that, Lady Mary blushing like a shy school girl. He waited for Matthew to continue.

"I… was s-sadly quite r-rude," Matthew said, his eyes twinkling. "I w-was railing to M-mother how awful it was that…. Earl Grantham h-had three d-d-daughters that would b-b-be thrown at m-me. And then I t-turned around and there she was." He paused. "Glaring dr-dreadfully, which I d-deserved."

Mary laughed. So did almost everyone at the table. "You deserved it and more," she said, still chortling. "Oh I was so angry with you that day…" She looked at Matthew, and then at Henry, and Bertie saw instantly that Henry realized he'd lost the first battle in the war. This is, he thought as he sipped his wine, going to be a very interesting two weeks.


	7. Chapter 7

Isobel was chasing worry, Violet thought as Matthew took a seat across from her at the small table she had arranged in her rose garden for their luncheon. Matthew looked remarkably well for a dead man. He'd hardly aged at all, although that wasn't a surprise. Crawley men aged well. If there was any concern to be had, it was that Matthew looked tired, although it was a long train ride from London to Ripon, only to spend all evening dodging the reality of dinner at Downton Abbey. "How good of you to join me, Matthew," she said pleasantly. "Your mother Isobel warned me to not overtask you at this luncheon, which means I can only ask your advice on my roses, and not put you to work fixing the mess the last gardener made."

He smiled but she could see her assumptions were correct. "Mother… forgets that I am not actually m-made of glass. I remind myself when… I feel short tempered, how… d-difficult this has been for her. And… she isn't used to who I am n-now."

"And who are you, now?" Violet asked as she passed him a plate of savory biscuits. "I don't plan to tell tales." It wasn't even her purpose in inviting him to tea, but it was an interesting way to see his state of mind. Mary's comments, since she had returned from her visit to him in Cornwall, had been full of affection, and also despair, and before she put her hand in to stir the pot, she needed more information.

He sipped his own cup of tea and smiled ruefully. "I am a p-poet, Cousin Violet. I work as a g-gardener and I do that because I l-like it, not because I can't manage b-better." He sighed. "Right now, I have this urge to… set your garden to rights. I don't care that it's beneath me."

"Would you shirk your duty to the earldom?" Violet let a touch of pique enter her voice. Men held the power in their world, and women like her accepted it, but the tradeoff was that men tended their duties.

"No." Matthew's fingers tapped the table. "I won't l-lie… I considered it but if that had been my plan, I wouldn't be sitting here n-now."

It pleased her, the hint of anger in his words. The night before, at the dinner, he had hesitant and quiet, except when he'd been talking to Mary. Some of that was embarrassment. He didn't sound terrible, he would have to prove himself to the tenants as able but it wouldn't be hard, and she suspected some of his trouble at dinner was due to being tired. He was speaking much more easily now, with just her, and she saw no sign of impairment. It meant that he could fight and she sensed a fight was coming.

"What do you intend to do, Matthew? About Downton, and Mary?" It was a fair question, Violet thought.

He looked at her, his gaze suddenly intense. "I don't know. I… didn't do this to hurt anyone."

"Of course you didn't." She returned his gaze, hoping he understood that she wasn't chastising him for not jumping in with both feet once he had begun to realize who he was. Perhaps it was being older, but she understood the dilemma he had faced. "I admire you. You made the best decision that could be made. This is a mess, we all understand that, but it would be one hundred times worse if you had kept silent and hidden in your little seaside village. Secrets have a way of being found out." He nodded to that and smiled, and she wondered but pressed on. "You were right to be cautious, but you did the right thing in coming forward even if it sets into motion some unhappiness. Mary and your mother would have been devastated if they found out you were well but kept yourself away, no matter what your reasons."

Isobel worried that her son was somehow ashamed of having been so grievously injured, that he wasn't fit to resume his position. It wasn't impossible to believe, Matthew had his pride, and it wasn't just a speech impediment, but looking at him, Violet suspected his hesitance had much more to do with Mary.

Or rather, Mary's husband Henry Talbot. She set down her cup of tea and looked Matthew in the eye. "With that said, you do know this presents us with… challenges? Have you thought about what you will do? About your marriage?"

After a moment he smiled. "At least… one of you will ask." Then he put his hands in his lap. "You… do understand that l-legally, I am still Mary's husband?"

"Yes, I know, as does everyone else. Including Henry." Matthew flinched at the name, and she wasn't sure if that heartened her or worried her. It was a damned shame it had taken so long for him to remember himself, she thought once again.

He sighed. She suspected he was thinking the same thing. "Does it… surprise you that I wasn't unhappy? As John Gardener? Because I wasn't unhappy. I liked my life. I… could make this very easy. I have a life I'm happy with. I know you… dislike the talk of money b-but I'm not l-living in d-desperation. I… already miss the ocean… the quiet. I c-could have that life very easily and it would settle some of the agony here. I c-could divorce Mary for adultery." He looked up at her, his expression kind but intent. "It's… the easiest r-resolution. I wouldn't l-lose. I'd go back to Cornwall. I would insist on seeing George and that the estate b-be maintained for him. That is the least awkward p-path."

If she had any doubt that his intellect had been damaged in the accident, it was gone. "I somehow sense you're not planning to take the path of least resistance."

"I w-want Mary to be happy," he said carefully. "If that means she chooses Henry… Then she does. But… she has to choose. I… refuse to m-make the choice for her. It has to b-be her decision. If n-nothing else… I need to be certain. I w-worry… because of the n-new child that she feels honor bound by it to choose Henry for the new child's sake since George's legitimacy is already certain. I m-made it worse by being honest that I… wasn't always happy with my role here. I have… an idea of what to do but… I need s-someone to know my true plan." He chuckled suddenly. "It's so strange, Cousin Violet, to realize how alike M-Mary and I are. Do you see it?"

After a moment, she nodded. It reminded her of the dilemma of Lavinia. Matthew had loved that girl, she hadn't doubted it, but it had been a second best sort of love. And Mary loved Henry, and in a world where her first husband was dead, it was a good match. Matthew had felt honor bound to stay with Lavinia since she had stood by him, to the detriment of his own heart and Mary no doubt felt honor bound to stay with Henry since he had married her and loved her and certainly hadn't expected Mary's dead husband to return. .

The problem was that Mary and Matthew were alike in their fierce loyalty, made worse that it was rare indeed for Mary to give it to anyone. She had given it to Henry when she married him. Violet suspected that Lavinia would have been the one to put Matthew out of his misery, if the poor girl hadn't died. Henry didn't strike her as gracious or as clever to understand that winning the battle meant losing the war. She could hardly fault him. Lavinia would have been ending an engagement, embarrassing perhaps but engagements were broken all the time. Henry in contrast would be the publically spurned man, with either a bastard child or a child with another man's name. He wasn't going to walk away, not without some fight.

Unless Mary had to choose, and chose Matthew over him. "How do you plan to force her hand?"

In his halting manner, he explained his plan. It was clever, fiendishly clever, and she understood why he wanted an ally, and why it wasn't his mother he went to. Isobel would have given it away. The only real problem she saw was that it would put Mary through an emotional wringer. And…

"This could fail, Matthew." Violet felt it had to be said. "You could do this and she could chose him."

He leaned back in the small chair. "Then she d-does. I… still love her. If…if she chooses him… she does. I will r-respect it b-but…"

"Mary still loves you," Violet finished for him. The problem was that his plan could backfire. Henry was a wild card in it, and forcing Mary to do anything had always been painful.

0o0o0o0

He took off his robe and got into bed next to her. She smiled but Henry sensed that she was still closed off, lost in thought. Still, he thought worriedly, we can't keep avoiding it. "Mary, we have to talk about the legal situation."

"The lawyers will be here tomorrow," Mary said. "And there's really not much to talk about. Matthew is Papa's heir. He's alive. By this time tomorrow, he'll own half the estate again."

Henry sat up in the bed and looked at her. "Mary… let's stop dancing around it. I'm not talking about the estate, I'm talking about the marriage. It's no one's fault, the position you're in. But you do have to face the situation."

"I _am_ facing the situation, Henry." She waved her hand around the bedroom. "This was our bedroom, our bed… and I'm in bed with you tonight. While he has to stay with his mother. Do you think you're losing?"

"Am I at war?" he asked easily. "I will fight for you, you do realize that, I hope."

She smiled slightly. "Yes, I know." She pulled the covers up around herself. "I doubt it will come to that. I expect tomorrow that Matthew will make it clear to everyone what he made clear to me in Cornwall."

He reached over and took her hand. "What did he say to you?" Something upsetting, something that belied the reasonable good cheer between the two that had made him so nervous.

"He was unhappy." Her voice shook. "Not with me, he was adamant, but the life he was forced to live made him unhappy. He didn't want to make things difficult for us, he loves me too much to drag this out. He wouldn't… when he found out I remarried, he considered saying and doing nothing. Remaining as John Gardener, in the life he enjoyed, because he didn't want to hurt me just to resume the life he never wanted. He came back, he revealed himself, because he couldn't bear the idea of George not knowing him. He would have stayed away if we hadn't had a child. When the topic of divorce is raised tomorrow, I expect him to tell me he wants one." She laughed in a mirthless way. "I half expect him to explain the pros and cons of his filing against me versus my filing against him. He'll make it easy." Then she began to cry.

"There, there," Henry said as he cradled her in his arms. "It will be all right. Whatever happens, I will be here for you." He wondered if it was really going to be that simple, that the amiable, slow seeming Matthew Crawley preferred his quiet, amiable life in Cornwall. He certainly hoped so, but he wasn't going to make any assumptions. He understood what Mary was saying, why she was thinking Matthew would agree to a divorce, but he doubted it was so simple. It wasn't lost on him that they both were intensely aware of each other whenever they were in a room together, and Matthew had occasional sharp moments where it was clear he wasn't happy to see his wife with someone else.

And then there was the fact that he was lying in bed with his wife, consoling her over her sadness that her first husband was going to divorce her. No, there was too much feeling for it to end so easily. He would need to be on alert tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

It started well. That should have been her warning. The first two hours was mostly Matthew answering tedious questions about where he had been, providing the names and addresses of people who knew him as John Gardener. The man from the government, a nondescript mousy fellow with a silly looking mustache seemed pleasantly surprised that no one in the family was protesting Matthew's return to life, but even he conceded that once the path was traced, it was clear that Matthew was indeed Matthew. Between his fingerprints matching, his physical appearance and that his story was easily corroborated by many people in Cornwall, it really was a formality. As her father predicted, getting all the money they had paid the government in taxes would be difficult but not impossible.

"Now," Murray said, after the government man had bid them all farewell, "We can get down to matters of the estate and succession. Your lordship," and he turned to Robert. "However distasteful I think you will find what I am about to say, it is my duty as your lawyer to make you aware that you do have grounds to question Mr. Crawley's fitness to assume the earldom."

That irritated Mary. Murray had never liked Matthew and no doubt worried that Matthew being alive meant that Matthew would assume more responsibility and control of the estate, especially with Robert having been so seriously ill over the last year. "There's nothing terribly wrong with Matthew, Murray."

Murray glared at her, and so did her father, although she had the sense that he was also annoyed with Murray. Matthew in contrast, seemed amused by all the reactions, while Henry and Tom both looked more curious than anything else.

"Mary," Matthew said carefully, "This is… Murray's job. Donk needs all of the f-facts. Murray would be doing a bad j-job if he didn't broach the obvious." He gestured to Murray to continue. It was surprising to her, how Murray bristled at Matthew's genuinely polite and helpful remark. Then she realized what was really going on and almost said something, but a look from her father stopped her. Murray thought Matthew had been rendered a dimwit by the accident, and Matthew was subtly defending himself.

Murray gave him a dark look and then turned to Robert. "Mr. Crawley forgot his own name for close to five years. His speech is… impaired, and he admits to suffering from epileptic seizures. That sort of condition is known to deteriorate over time. That's why so many epileptics eventually end their days in hospitals.

Her father frowned at Murray. "I've done a bit of reading on the topic, as it happens. And I have spoken to some medical professionals about Matthew's recovery. Matthew's condition is caused by an injury, not a defect of birth, and Dr. Alford, the physician he's been seeing, explained in detail that all indications are that Matthew isn't likely to get worse. His head injury may never fully heal, but he's unlikely to deteriorate."

"In fact," Matthew added, "I have s-seizures much less frequently… than when I was first recovering. But Murray is right to raise the issue. You c-could make a case to have me bypassed in favor of George. But…."

"But what?" Murray snapped.

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I admit to n-not being up to date on the law. But my d-doctor will testify on my behalf that my affliction," and he paused more than normal, "is due to injury, not general defect and that no one… has argued or is arguing that I am irrational or incapable. I'm not… drooling in the corner l-like Lord Alwerd's eldest son, or b-babbling, or striking people and…"

"And Lord Alwerd didn't win," Robert finished for him. "Despite poor Gregory's obvious deficiencies."

Murray waved his hand. "Lord Alwerd was being spiteful, it was understood that Gregory wasn't likely to live long enough to inherit, his injuries were too severe."

Robert laughed. "And I wouldn't be viewed as spiteful? Attempting to disinherit Matthew because it's inconvenient he's still alive? Murray, I respect your point, and I respect your desire to be thorough and to keep me advised of my options, but I have no intention of even trying to remove Matthew from the succession. The earldom will fall to Matthew and then to George, and that's as it should be. Frankly considering the bigger issue of Matthew's investment into the estate, even if I somehow won, I'd be bankrupting the estate."

Murray nodded, but Mary had the sense that the topic would be raised again when Matthew wasn't present. Not that it would matter to her father. She gave the man credit for not being obvious about how he was genuinely happy to see Matthew alive. Matthew would have needed to have been as poorly as poor Gregory Alwerd with his caved in skull and missing hand and foot to get Robert to make the hard decision.

"Then let's move on to the issue of Mr. Crawley's will and his investment in Downton," Murray said briskly. "There's really no question about it. The majority of the money will need to be transferred back to Mr. Crawley. The only real question is the money that was earned from the investments Lady Mary made with the money."

Matthew raised his hand to interrupt. "If I m-may, Mr. Murray?" He waited until the older man nodded at him. "Donk and I already discussed a s-solution. As Lady Mary has been the estate agent… for several years, as was Tom, the money should go to them as a bonus." He nodded to Tom and then to Mary. "I d-didn't earn that money, the two of you did, and Donk agrees. Don't you, Donk?"

Robert grimaced slightly at the diminutive but nodded just the same. "I agree with Matthew. It won't break the estate at all and the two of you deserve a reward for all of your work. Mary, you weren't even taking a salary, I didn't realize that."

She nodded although she didn't really understand his point. She hadn't taken a salary because she owned half of the estate. It occurred to her, suddenly, what was really happening. Matthew was going to divorce her but he was making sure she would be well taken care of. He wanted to settle a large amount of money on her so she didn't want for anything. She steeled herself for what would come next.

Murray for a change seemed pleased. "That's very generous of both of you. Mr. Crawley, will you be resuming your role here? Or shall I place an advertisement for a new land agent?"

She was surprised that Matthew looked genuinely flustered by the question. So far, she thought he'd been delighting in thwarting Murray. "My plans… are as yet undecided. I m-may return to Cornwall." That didn't surprise her. As far as she knew, he still technically worked for Lady Barwick, and had been referring to his stay in Downton Village with his mother as a visit. "There are… other questions that must be settled. However," and he angled his body in his chair to look at Mary, "why would we need a new land agent? Didn't we just agree Lady Mary is doing an excellent job? Mary, do you like being the land agent?"

She couldn't help but be amused at his air of befuddlement. He was putting on a show for Murray, who was barely able to hide his irritation. "As a matter of fact, I quite enjoy managing the estate." It was true, which made it easy to say. Her father took her advice and suggestions seriously, it didn't escape her that he respected her more, and so did the villagers and tenants.

She also wondered suddenly if anyone noticed his stutter had almost disappeared.

"So…" Matthew turned himself back to Murray. "Why do we need a new agent? Donk, you made her the agent to b-begin with, so surely you have no… objection? And I see a well maintained estate. If Mary enjoys the work and d-does it well, why would we need a new agent?"

Murray seemed enlivened by Matthew's comment, even though it was clear he wasn't happy that the unorthodox arrangement would continue. "Then let's move on to the next issue. Namely the marriage." His smile seemed almost shark like. "With Mr. Crawley alive and well, legally he and Lady Mary are still married. Technically, Lady Mary, you could be prosecuted for bigamy but frankly, as long as the situation is dealt with soon, there should be nothing but some unpleasant comments."

"What does dealing with the situation mean?" Henry asked suddenly. He took one of her hands into his. She accepted it gratefully. She knew what Murray's advice would be.

"I'm not a divorce attorney," Murray said easily, "so you will want to consult with one, and I might make a different recommendation if Lady Mary wasn't… with child. The child's legitimacy becomes an issue if it is born before the marital situation is settled. Because the situation is extraordinary, I don't think the courts will fuss at accommodating you but the process needs to start soon. Mr. Crawley, you have the obvious reason to file. As unwitting as it was, your wife has committed adultery. No court would deny you have grounds and you certainly don't have to demand details. Then , Lady Mary, you and Mr. Talbot can have the bans read and be married before the child is born."

"That… is quick and clever," Matthew said after a long moment of thought. "But… I d-don't want a divorce."

Mary clenched Henry's hand, willing herself to not faint. "What?"

He looked at her, his gaze almost blazing in intensity. "I… don't… want to divorce you. I want… to stay married. I won't f-file. The child c-can have the Crawley name." He paused, almost as though he couldn't bear what he had to say next. "If you want a d-divorce, I won't oppose it, and I will go back to Cornwall and we j-just need to agree on how we share George. You can stay here, and be the l-l-land agent. I know we… t-talked about how I f-felt my choices were taken from me. I won't do that to you. You c-can choose me, or you can choose Henry." He smiled suddenly. "You know your own mind, Mary. I'll r-respect whatever decision you make."

She wanted to kiss him and slap him at the same time. She wanted to kiss him him, because she ached to, and because he hadn't broken her heart. He didn't want a divorce. She wanted to slap him because he was putting it all back on her. Looking into his eyes and then Henry's, she realized suddenly that she was going to have to break the heart of one of them.

0o0o0o0

Tom wondered, as Barrow held out a tray of drinks to him, just how the servants were handling the day's events. No doubt they were all around the table in the servants hall, merrily pondering who Lady Mary would choose, all while Carson harrumphed how it was no one's business. Unless Carson had already gone home. It occurred to him suddenly how different Matthew was finding Downton Abbey, even if he hadn't raised the topic. It was odd to him still, to have Barrow taking charge in the evening.

Of course it was also odd to have Matthew in the library after dinner, having a drink. With Bertie, Henry, Dickie Merton, Murray, and Robert there, it struck him that it was a rare occasion indeed, an evening where the men in the household outnumbered the women. Dinner had been painfully awkward, with everyone grimly determined to not mention Matthew's ultimatum, but Tom sensed, as Henry seethed in the corner, that it wouldn't last long.

Bertie at least seemed determined to make the after dinner talk light. "I must admit," he said cheerfully to Matthew, "all this after dinner business takes some getting used to. When I was the agent for Brancaster, I could have a quiet dinner and put my feet up after. I imagine you probably did the same."

Matthew nodded. "Most evenings, if I w-wasn't seeing friends, it was my f-favorite chair by the fire, especially in winter. Some nights there are… artist gatherings, or chess g-games at the pub. There's a b-book club at… the library on Saturdays."

Bertie laughed. "You're describing heaven, Matthew. I swear, this and my honeymoon has been the first time I've even been able to consider reading a book, let having a quiet simple meal." He looked down at his glass. "I suppose I should make more time for such things, but Brancaster is such a mess."

Tom left the two and moved over to Henry, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but standing in the library, listening to Bertie and Matthew go on about the simple pleasures of life. Henry looked angry, he had looked angry since the meeting that afternoon. Tom didn't envy him. In a matter of weeks he had gone from happily married with a child on the way to stuck in a strange limbo, waiting to see if his wife would choose him over her beloved first husband returned from the dead. "You know," he said softly to the taller man, "you haven't lost. If anything, now you know where you stand. Matthew is forcing her hand."

"Yes, isn't he a peach," Henry muttered.

Tom hesitated just a moment. The English people weren't like the Irish, he had learned that through the years, and as much as he didn't miss the constant fighting, he didn't like how rare it was for anyone to actually mention why they were angry. He understood completely why Matthew was refusing to divorce Mary. Some of it was wrapped up in how naturally contrary Matthew was with Mary, but there was a sincerity to the man's words that Tom believed. Matthew genuinely wanted Mary to be happy and if that meant she chose Henry… Then Tom was certain that while it would be a blow to the man, Matthew would make good on his word and take it on the chin and return to Cornwall. It might, he considered, even be a good thing. It was clear that Matthew wasn't comfortable with being at Downton, that he was chafing at things, made worse that Isobel was treating him as though he was an invalid. If it wasn't so painfully awkward, Tom had no doubt that Matthew would have already asked for a room at the Abbey. "Perhaps you should ask him why he said what he did."

Henry clearly wasn't in the mood to be charitable or reasonable. His eyes lit up. "That is a wonderful idea." He strode over to Matthew, his anger obvious. "What exactly were you thinking today, Crawley?"

Matthew straightened his posture. "I was thinking… that Mary needs to choose. If I… seem unkind… I apologize." Matthew blinked and Tiaa suddenly whined and came up behind him. "Mary does know… her own mind. If you… want t-to be certain… then she has t-t-to choose.

The dog whined again and Matthew shooed it away with his hand. Matthew didn't like dogs, Tom recalled, something about being bitten as a child, and Isis had always been snappy with him, and while Tiaa was a good pup, she was still young and wasn't as steady in her manners. What really struck him was how Barrow's eyes widened. The butler set down his tray in a rush and started towards Matthew even as Henry stepped forward.

"You're playing on her sympathies," Henry said coldly.

Matthew smiled, although the color in his face seemed to leave him. "Do you… n-not know her?" Then his hand trembled, and Barrow swiftly grabbed the glass out of his hand and set it down, and then wrapped his arms around Matthew.

"You need to get down, Mr. Crawley," Barrow said gently. Matthew clearly didn't hear him, the man's eyes were open but it was as though some switch had been turned off. His legs buckled and as Barrow laid him down on the carpet, the shaking began in earnest .

"Oh my," Robert stepped over and knelt down next to Matthew's twitching form. "Should we send for Dr. Clarkson and his mother?" Bertie started for the door but Tom stopped him.

"Give it a minute," he said to Robert. "It happens to him, he's said that. His friend in Cornwall told me it's only dangerous if it doesn't stop after a minute or so, if he doesn't come around quickly or if he hurts himself falling." He gave Barrow an appreciative look. "Good show catching him, Barrow." There were any number of sharp edged pieces of furniture that Matthew could have hit going down.

"How did you know, Barrow?" Robert asked.

Barrow, kneeling by Matthew's shaking body, shook his head and pointed at the dog. "I didn't know but Tiaa did. When I was a medic in the army, one of the doctors swore that his dog would always whine before a patient seized. When I saw Tiaa going around him, whining, I realized she was sensing something." As he spoke, Matthew's shaking stopped. Barrow nodded to Tom. "And Mr. Branson is right. There's no reason to call a doctor… Mr. Crawley already knows he has fits."

Robert made a show of petting Tiaa. "Well, aren't you a good girl, Tiaa," he crooned as Matthew's eyes fluttered open. Barrow and Tom helped him to a chair. It was strange how oddly relieved Robert looked as Matthew blinked and reoriented himself. "Matthew, you had a seizure, a fit. Do you recall it? Should we get your mother? I must say, it wasn't the horror show Isobel made it sound like. That was it, Tom realized. Robert was a good man, but he had no doubt worried about Matthew's fitness. He was relieved because it wasn't that terrible to see, and Matthew clearly recovered quickly, which meant it was a manageable problem.

"Give me a m-moment," Matthew said, just a touch breathless. He blinked and shook his head. "Please… please don't t-tell Mother. I'm…. as right as I c-can be and she… gets upset."

Dickie nodded. "Let Matthew catch his breath, and get himself composed before we let the women know he wasn't well." To Robert he added, "Isobel does get upset…"

"Well, I don't know why," Robert said heartily. He patted Matthew on the back. "This was nothing. Isobel is just being fussy. Odd for her… did she tell you about my bad spell, where I managed to scare the entire household by throwing up blood? She was a rock through out the whole thing and yet something so… minimal like this upsets her…"

Tom tended to agree but winced at how Robert was overdoing to it reassure Matthew. Still, it was good to know the problem, when it happened, wasn't terrible. He stepped over to the bar, where Murray and Henry were huddled.

Murray ignored him, which was no surprise. Murray was a snob who had never liked that the chauffeur had become the land agent, and Murray had never liked Matthew because Matthew was tainted with his mother's liberal views. But he had always found Henry to be acceptable so it wasn't a surprised that he made a point of taking Henry aside.

"Mr. Talbot," the elderly lawyer spoke quietly as Tom poured a drink for all three of them, "I can see that his lordship is determined to make this particular sow's ear into a silk purse. And Mr. Crawley has rather cleverly manipulated your wife into needing to invent some lie in order to be rid of him."

"She doesn't have to lie," Henry countered. "He went missing for five years. She thought he was dead. There was a rather large funeral."

"An obstinate judge would disagree that Mr. Crawley had intent to mislead." Murray waved his hand at Henry's protest. "Yes, eventually it would work, but the clock is ticking. If you don't want your child smeared as a bastard she needs to be divorced and remarried to you soon. And even if Mr. Crawley were amiable enough to agree to admitting to adultery, and I suspect that's a step too far, she won't be divorced quickly. Except…"

"Except what," Henry hissed.

Murray smiled. "Epilepsy is grounds for annulment. No one need lie or exaggerate, an excuse I suspect Lady Mary is already preparing." The older man shrugged as he took the drink Tom offered him. "I'm not a divorce lawyer. I do know several I'd recommend. Your wife needs a good lawyer if she wants out of her marriage to her first husband."

That was assuming Mary would agree, Tom thought to himself. Divorcing Matthew due to his injury did avoid making up some lie, but… "That also could lead to people more strongly questioning Matthew's competence," he offered.

"Given that Mr. Crawley has made an ultimatum, I'd call that his problem, don't you agree?" Murray's tone was snide.

Henry looked down at his glass. "It's something to consider, but I don't know that it's necessary. As my wife pointed out the other night, I'm the one she's living with while he has to stay with his mother."

Murray smiled thinly. "And you don't think that will change, Mr. Talbot? After today, it's no longer your wife's home, it's his home. Legally, he can demand you both leave at once, and insist his son be taken from your wife as well. Have you given any thought to the precarious position you are now in?"

Tom felt compelled to step in. "Matthew isn't going to throw Mary out of her home, he even said as much." He glared at Murray and then pulled Henry aside. "He's just trying to make trouble, Henry."

"But he makes a fair point." Henry sighed. "I want to talk to Mary before I consider any action." He took in Tom's concerned expression and smiled slightly. "Don't worry, I don't plan to do anything rash. It's Mary's decision, and Matthew is right. She knows her own mind. But she does need to know her options." His eyes darkened. "I don't intend to pummel a crippled chap into submission to win, Tom. But he's not a crippled chap at all. He declared war today. I won't be cruel, but I won't roll over for him either."

The problem of wars, Tom mused, was that in the end both sides generally lost.


	9. Chapter 9

Henry crossed his arms. He wasn't quite glaring at her, but she sensed that was coming. "Mary, we have to have some discussion about this."

She set down her hair brush. "Henry…"

He held up his hand, his sea green eyes fierce. "Stop. I have been patient. I have not pressed you in the slightest. I have been cordial to your first husband, I have sat across the dinner table from him and watched him flirt with you and I have held my tongue. Last night he had the audacity to ask me if I even knew you. Anyone else, they would have gotten a fist in the face for such a remark." He shrugged. "He threw this all at you, and I know you need time to think about things…"

I don't, Mary thought suddenly. I know what I want. The problem was that to choose Matthew meant chaining him to a life he didn't want. It was clear to her that while he was very much the same inside, his speech did cause problems and so did his history. The tenants were all vocally pleased he was alive but she could see the worry in their eyes. Matthew would face a constant uphill battle for respect, when what he longed for was a quiet life with little stress. Stress made him more likely to have seizures. He'd been a month between them, he'd told her that, and Isobel had said it as well, and since resuming contact with his family, it had happened twice in three weeks. She had barely been able to not go to his side the moment her father revealed that while the ladies had been chit chatting after dinner, the men had been dealing with Matthew having a violent seizure. She hadn't gone to his side because she couldn't shame Henry in such a way. Going to Matthew's side would be a declaration of who she was choosing, and she wasn't there yet. She wasn't ready. "Matthew is being Matthew," she said to Henry. "He sees this as his fault and that I would be publically shamed by society if he divorces me."

"He's playing a game with your emotions but that's not what we need to discuss," Henry said, his tone curt. "In one respect, I do agree with him. It's your decision to make, not mine or his, and I will abide by your choice, as much as it would break my heart." He took a deep breath. "I give you your way in many things because I believe a marriage is a partnership, not a man ruling over his kingdom. However, there is one thing I will not tolerate in this mess. The child you're carrying is a Talbot. I am the father of that child and it will have my name. I will be patient, I will accept your choice, although I will fight for you and your love. I would even accept it if you made the baffling choice to stay married to Matthew, although you would leave me as a broken man if you did… but Matthew Crawley will not hold any claim to our child." His gaze seemed to burn her. "The only thing I love more than you in this world is our baby, Mary. This is the only ultimatum I will give you. Our child, my child, will not be a Crawley."

"Oh Henry," she sighed as she gestured for him to sit down next to her. It was the last thing he needed to worry about and for more than that she had no intention of separating any child from their father. Legally, Matthew could demand George live with him and never let her see her son. As soon as the new child was born, Henry could rip the baby from her arms and keep her from ever seeing the child. The law favored fathers over mothers. "Matthew was making a point, not a threat. He isn't interested in stealing your child away. If you noticed, he isn't happy that George calls you Papa and him Papa Matthew, but he doesn't make a fuss because as he put it, we thought he was dead and he's glad his son has a stepfather who clearly cares about him." It was a point where she was glad Matthew had always been a reasonable man. He had admitted that one of his fears for George was that with her new marriage, that George would be shunted aside by a step father or possibly even worse. "And this isn't some sort of prize fight, Henry."

"Isn't it?" he countered. She was surprised to see the competitive fire in his eyes. "The worst thing is knowing that if I raise the obvious objections as to why you shouldn't choose him over me, I will drive you into his arms. Because I know you, Mary. Underneath your patrician exterior lies a warm heart, and he was the first man you ever loved and it does show. He reduces you to a giggling girl. It would be amusing if I didn't understand what it means for me."

"Tell me the obvious objections," she countered. "If you think you're losing, what difference does it make?"

"I love you dearly." He took her hand. "I fell in love with you and I have never faltered. That's my first and most compelling objection. The second is that while I accept you won't attempt to pass my child off as a Crawley, you would be making my child, my first child, illegitimate. Third… I know you didn't care for Murray's point yesterday, but Matthew has an illness that usually leads to an asylum. Yes, he seems much recovered, but that took _five years_ , Mary. This may be as far as his recovery goes… and he could deteriorate over time. From what I've read, that's likely. And have you considered how he could have one of these fits and simply die? Or strike his head and forget himself again." He kissed her hand. "I know you grieved deeply for him. You are the woman I love because of that. It marked you, it intrigued me to see if I or any man could capture the heart of a woman who loved so deeply but… I worry that going through it a second time would break you, and I can't bear to see that happen."

It was sweet, how he was thinking of her, although she was certain he had considered more practical matters as well. Namely that if she chose him over Matthew, their lives would change. Matthew could insist he'd go back to Cornwall and let her run the estate but... "What would happen," she asked, almost casually, "if I chose you? Would you be content living here, while I run the estate? Raising your child in a home that belongs to my first husband?"

He made a face. "If that is something you would insist on, then I would have to be content, wouldn't I? I admit though, I would make sure our child had some property to call their own. I would need to make sure our business is even more of a success. And... Evans has been by, did I tell you?"

She shook her head. "If you mentioned it, I completely forgot. What did Evans want?" Evans had been one of his sponsors when he raced, an enthusiast for the sport.

"He wanted me to come out of retirement and race. Offered me quite a bit actually." Henry smiled. "Apparently absence does make the heart grow fonder. He has a new car he wants to try and he wants an experienced driver. I'm considering it."

A test, Mary thought, and one I am likely to fail. "I never told you to stop racing."

"You didn't," he agreed easily. "But I know it bothered you because your husband died so terribly. I assume it becomes a little less difficult knowing he's coming for dinner tonight and the hunt this weekend. I didn't say yes to Evans. I wanted to discuss it with you and see how you felt."

That was the test she was going to fail, and it wasn't fair, because she had never asked him to stop racing. After Charlie's death, he had told her that he'd lost his taste for it, and she had believed him. The problem was that she suddenly suspected that much like Matthew resigning himself to a life as an English lord that he didn't want just to be with her, Henry had dropped his life as a race car driver to please her. Worse, knowing that made her decision less clear. If she chose Matthew, she was making him unhappy and stressed, and she was consigning the dear child growing inside her to a life of illegitimacy. If she chose Henry, her child's parentage wouldn't be questioned but she was forcing Henry to live a life he didn't want, a life that touched his pride, living in a house he didn't own, while his wife worked. "You're a grown man, and you enjoy racing despite the danger. I enjoy fox hunting despite the danger. Would you ever tell me to stop?"

"I'd prefer you not go fox hunting until after the baby comes," he retorted, gently chiding her. "I haven't given Evans any commitment. He's bringing the car over for me to look over tomorrow. I asked him to stay for the shooting, Robert said he didn't mind. Do you?"

"Not at all." If nothing else, it would give Henry something to do instead of glaring darkly at Matthew and holding a glass of scotch in the corner, frowning. The problem was that whichever she chose, she would make unhappy, and whoever she didn't chose would be devastated. Matthew was right that day at Lavinia's grave, she thought suddenly, I am cursed.

0o0o0o0

He awoke with a start, suddenly unnerved that he wasn't in his bed. He opened his eyes and remembered, almost groaning. He wasn't in his comfortable bed in his cottage, the window wasn't open and blowing the scent of the ocean and the flowers around the cottage in. He was in Crawley House, in his old bedroom, a room that reflected just how bereft his mother had been. Everything he'd left at Crawley House was gone, the walls painted and bare. Even the curtains were different.

The curtains were also letting in a great deal of light. As he thought about it, the grandfather clock downstairs chimed, letting him know just how late it was. "Bloody hell," he muttered as he got up and began dressing. It was already 12 in the afternoon, and while he hardly had a taxing work schedule, he couldn't lie in bed like a lay about. And he was fairly certain he knew why no one had awakened him.

That reason was sitting in the parlor, thumbing through a medical journal. His mother smiled at him as he walked in. "You're up. Lovely. Pauline has some breakfast for you keeping warm in the oven."

"Mother. It's noon. Why didn't you wake me?" Matthew suspected he knew the answer.

She looked him over. "Because you were exhausted when you got here four days ago, and you haven't been getting enough rest. You've been run ragged with obligations and intensive meetings, and you're… dealing with some issues that are stressful. You had a grand mal seizure last night. You needed some rest. Frankly, you look much better for it."

Her pronouncement was more irritating because he couldn't disagree. He had been tired, overtaxed, and with a good night's sleep it was as though all the cobwebs had been brushed away. "Mother, I'm not a child. I sometimes have seizures and g-go back to work after."

She set down the journal she'd been reading. "I know that, Matthew. I know you're not a child, and you're capable of managing your condition by yourself. Was there some appointment you needed to make? Or are you here visiting, on holiday? There's no need to push yourself so hard. You have nothing to prove to me."

"Not to you, "and he was grateful for that, "but that's… not true, and you know that," he said as he took a seat on the sofa next to her. "We can pretend that, b-but it's not true."

Isobel sighed. "Then stop putting yourself at a disadvantage, Matthew. For example, it's very apparent that you stutter and stammer less when you're well rested. I know the prejudice, and I know part of why you're so attached to your little seaside town in Cornwall is because you don't have to fight a constant uphill battle to make people see your intellect isn't impaired. I can't begin to imagine how stressful yesterday was, how intensely frustrating it must be to have your competence questioned. Particularly in front of your wife, and your family." She patted his knee. "You don't have to be on guard with me, Matthew, or with Dickie. We're in your corner. You're not alone in this. I don't think you'll ever know how very proud I am of you, that you faced so many terrible problems face on and rebuilt your life from nothing without any help. You've accomplished so much with so little… May I give you some advice? Beyond getting enough rest?"

"Of course, Mother." He assumed she was going to start in on his diet. She had mentioned something the day before about a special diet that helped control seizures.

She took his hand. "You need a lawyer, Matthew."

"W-what?" He was taken back.

"You need a lawyer," Isobel repeated.

"Mother… I am a lawyer." Or was, he supposed. He wasn't planning to resume his career.

"Yes but…" She smiled at him fondly. "I seem to recall a young first year law student regaling me with all the clever things he'd been learning, chief among them that a man who represented himself in court had a fool for a client. I understand what you're doing in refusing to divorce Mary. It might even work, and if it doesn't then at least you know. But Henry is not going to simply walk away from his wife and child. And I didn't realize it until Dickie pointed it out, but Robert's lawyer Murray has taken against you." She hesitated. "You are epileptic, Matthew, and there are laws that can be used against you. You know that and that's another reason you're loath to leave that charming town where people don't mind, isn't it?"

After a moment, he nodded. "The town priest, Father Brown, warned me early on to be c-careful, that I could be locked up. However, that was early… early on. I was much worse." Early on, when he'd been so lost, his friend Jeremy and Lady Barwick, and the previous head gardener Emerson had fought off two attempts to have him sent to an asylum due to the seizures. He'd been lucky. "Robert didn't agree with him at all, and it w-would be much more difficult to argue now."

"But not impossible, and Robert tends to be swayed by whoever talks the loudest and longest, which puts you at a disadvantage." She shook her head. "I'm being unkind. Robert is genuinely happy you're alive and well. The threat is from Murray, although why I don't know, and Henry. And we know why Henry would want you out of the way. Dickie has discreetly looked into legal representation. I might be worrying too much, I admit that but… Even though you're letting Mary choose and she could pick Henry, you're threatening his entire life and he's a competitive man. I don't think he'd win but you should be prepared. You shouldn't be naïve about this."

"When is the lawyer coming?" The lawyer had already been engaged, that was clear but he couldn't fault his mother's intent. She had a valid concern, and he was being naïve in thinking Mary's husband would simply stand by.

"Tomorrow. He's a friend of Dickie's so he'll be staying for the hunt. He's a minor baron of some sort who read law and who takes interest in cases like this, a bit of a social crusader."

"And what are my p-plans for today?" He was still annoyed but he could also see the sense in her advice. Every day since he'd left Chepstow had been a slog of stress and activity. He did usually get up and return to work after a seizure but he wasn't normally so tired to begin with.

"You are going to eat some breakfast and have a quiet afternoon. Perhaps you will read a book in the garden. Mosely is coming by when school lets out to tell you his marvelous news, that he's now a teacher, and he and his father will join us for tea as Mr. Mosely has heard lovely things about Lady Barwick's gardens and wants to share secrets. Then we have a late dinner at the Abbey"

"Only if he allows me t-to have some cuttings from his garden. I haven't yet r-replicated his blossoms." Matthew countered, smiling.


	10. Chapter 10

Tom wasn't sure how he felt about Henry's friend Evans turning up for the hunt. People were talking about the situation, it wasn't something that could be hidden from view. He refused to take sides. Matthew hadn't asked, and Henry had graciously accepted his refusal. That was good because he was genuinely torn. Matthew was himself but different. More confident in an odd way, Matthew didn't seem to care what people thought of him. The speech problems embarrassed him, that was obvious, but he simply pressed on instead of withdrawing. It was different. Tom remembered all too well how deeply withdrawn Matthew had been when he had been injured during the war. It had been difficult to pry Matthew out of his room, and it had mostly been Mary to get him to wheel himself outdoors. If it followed the same pattern, he would have expected Matthew to be silent for the most part, afraid to display his disability. Instead, he was essentially the same as always. It took longer for his wittier remarks to come out but he wasn't shy and his hesitance seemed genuinely physical. The only concession Matthew made about his injuries was that he didn't allow himself to be alone with George and Tom thought that was good sense, if a bit paranoid. George was a little boy, if his father collapsed in front of him, it would be frightening and dangerous for both. Once George was a little older, the precaution wouldn't be necessary, the boy could call for help or handle things himself, but while he was so little, it was sensible.

That precaution was why he wasn't surprised to see George running from the house towards the barn they used as a garage, with Matthew and Thomas Barrow following along. "We're about to have guests," he said to Henry and Evans, both of whom were examining the engine of the smart new roadster Evans wanted Henry to race in.

Henry shrugged, while Evans looked at the approaching men. "Both are good looking fellows, which one is the competition?"

"The blond one that looks just like little George." Henry gave Evans a dark look. "Don't be unpleasant around the little chap, Peter. Mr. Crawley and I haven't formally discussed it but the situation is awkward enough without George thinking he needs to pick sides. And don't mock the man for seeming slow. He's not, trust me."

Evans nodded. "And he owns the estate or will. And is married to your wife. I assume tonight's dinner conversation will be amusing at least."

"It's a shame you two met this way," Tom offered, not for the first time. Henry shrugged again while Evens rolled his eyes.

"You've clearly picked a side," the older man said, his tone sharp.

"Don't, Peter." Henry held up a finger, rebuking the man. "Tom is Switzerland. He is close to both myself and to Matthew and he is not taking any side in this. It's an ugly business, difficult for all of us, Mary especially. I won't make it worse by insisting people choose between us."

Which, Tom thought with no small amount of amusement, made it very clear how Henry felt about Matthew's ultimatum about divorce. He personally thought it was clever and the only fair way to handle the mess. Hard on Mary, but she needed it. She needed to know that whichever path she chose, it was her choice and no one else's. Henry saw it as Matthew manipulating Mary, but Tom didn't agree.

George ran through the open barn doors. "Papa! Would you please let Mr. Evans show Papa Matthew and Mr. Barrow and I your new race car?" Matthew and Barrow followed him, both smiling. Tom understood why Matthew wasn't insisting on being 'Papa' – he agreed with Matthew's point when he brought it up, that George was his own person and would call him what he felt comfortable with. I wasn't here for years, Matthew had said, I can hardly be angry over him being fond of his stepfather.

"Of course, George, "Henry smiled as he spoke. "But it's not my race car yet. Mr. Evans hasn't convinced me."

"You'll be convinced," Evans said. He smiled as George stared at the car's shiny chrome. "Do you like what you see, Master George? Think you'll want to take after your papa and race cars?"

Matthew chuckled even as Henry gave Evans a warning look. It stopped Tom from making his own harsh comment. Evans knew the story, it wasn't a funny joke and it certainly wasn't a nice place to go in front of George. Matthew stepped over to the car and let his hand rest on the hood. "Let's hope he doesn't take after his papa in driving, I think." He laughed again. "In fact, Henry, I very much hope George t-takes after you in that." He smiled and looked at the car in admiration. "I'm c-certainly no expert but I admit I wish… I could take it for a spin."

Evans held up the keys. "Go ahead. I don't mind." He sniffed with amusement. "Drivers that crash lose their boldness, I've noticed. Take the lad for a ride."

Matthew shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid n-not. It's not safe." He ran his hand down the flashy chrome. "It's a p-pity…. I admit generous envy."

Henry's expression was oddly sympathetic, despite Evan's obvious delight in needling Matthew. "I suppose," he said as he picked up George and set the little boy behind the wheel, "that was one aspect of your affliction I didn't consider. Is it really that likely to happen while driving?"

"I wouldn't… take the chance," Matthew said easily. "If I am lucky, I get a… feeling and I can sit down, but I c-can't count on that. So I don't d-drive." He shrugged. "I always liked bicycling… There could b-be worse burdens. My injuries in the war were worse by far." He smiled slightly as George played with the wheel.

"Well, look at that, Henry," Evans said, his tone jovial yet spiteful. "If you don't take my job offer, you can be chauffeur to your wife's husband. Unless he gives you and the wife the heave-ho. That's in your power now, isn't it, Crawley?"

Matthew's eyes flashed, and so did Henry's. "Peter," Henry hissed, "Enough. It's not your concern." He turned to Matthew, clearly embarrassed. "We're not likely to become friends in this, no matter how much Tom insists we have much in common, but you have been respectful and Peter's remark was not. I apology for my guest." He gave Evans a dark look.

Evans took the not so subtle hint. "I'm sorry," he said, clearly not meaning it but willing to pay lip service to Henry's unspoken request, "I was rude to both of you."

Matthew shrugged. "The situation… is awkward. I accept your apology." Tom almost snickered at how Matthew was essentially mimicking Evans. He lifted George up out of the car. "I'm sure Papa Henry will b-be happy to give you a ride later, George but you and I and Mr. Barrow need to m-meet Grandma Izzy for our luncheon. You don't want to m-miss chocolate cake, do you?"

"No!" George said cheerfully, "Grandma Izzy's chocolate cake is my favorite!"

"It's my f-favorite too." Matthew gave Tom an amused look. "Grandma Izzy thinks I'm f-far too thin for her taste. I've had more dessert in the l-last few days…"

"We'll go for a ride later, George." Henry chimed in. "Your mama will probably want to watch." He waited for Matthew, Barrow and the boy to get out of earshot before turning to Evans. "Don't insult the man to his face in front of the child, Peter. You don't know what's already been discussed. He's already made it clear that his intent is to leave if… Mary decides to choose our marriage instead of her first. He's not planning to toss his wife out of her home."

"Then why are you even considering going back to racing, if you don't have to provide a new home for your family?" Evans asked, clearly curious. "Your car dealership is poised to reap profits, and there's no pressure to provide a comparable estate."

Henry shook his head. "You wouldn't understand, Peter." For an instant, the man looked utterly deflated and then Tom did understand. Henry was nothing if not a competitor and he thought Matthew was winning. He was much different than Matthew in many ways, and he was trying to remind Mary of that, that he was the bolder, more exciting choice. It wasn't a bad plan. Mary liked her men dashing, and while Matthew was as handsome as ever, that he was unable to drive or ride, and unlikely to want to dance or attend large social gatherings was a strike against him. Choosing Matthew would, Tom suspected, mean less entertaining over all for Mary, and Tom wasn't convinced that Matthew would want to live at Downton Abbey full time. He missed his quiet life, and if he did resume living at Downton, with Mary, Tom suspected there would be many changes once he became Earl of Grantham. And Mary did have her shallow moments when it came to such things. Henry had a chance.

0o0o0o0

First Edith and then Mary set their bouquets of flowers on Sybil's grave stone. "It still doesn't feel right," Edith said, "Whenever we do this, I always feel like we're playing a silly school girl game, and Sybil is going to bounce out from behind a gravestone and laugh at how she scared us."

"And then call us as stuffy as Granny if we chastised her," Mary said with a laugh. "It is odd though... I wonder what she would make of my predicament."

How to answer that, Edith wondered. "She would tell you to follow your heart, I think. Then you would dramatically declare that you had no heart, and ignore her advice until realizing five years later that she was right."

Mary's eyes flashed with anger, much as Edith expected, but for once she didn't mind. "I assume you have an opinion. I mean an opinion other than that I am a dreadful bitch who is getting what she deserves?"

"You've always been a dreadful bitch," Edith countered, "but no one deserves this. Not you, or Henry or Matthew. But this is where you are and you can't let it linger. Matthew has the right of it. You need to choose your fate, or else you'll never be happy. If you let someone decide for you, you'll always wonder."

Mary's eyes narrowed. "Being married has emboldened you, Edith. Tell me, since you're now the expert, what would you do if you were my position? If Michael Gregson came back from Germany?"

A blow, but a desperate one, wielded with an unsteady hand. Edith turned it aside easily. "That won't happen. Michael's body was identified."

"So was Matthew's," Mary retorted. "By the most unimpeachable of witnesses, his mother."

And of course you don't see Isobel's pain in that, Edith thought, or that dredging up Michael's death is hurtful. "If I must spell it out, and I sense I must, it's not the same because Michael and I were not married. We were planning to be married, Michael's entire reason for going to Germany was to obtain a divorce from his wife, but we were not husband and wife."

"You slept with him," Mary accused.

"And you slept with Kemal Pamuk and for less reason," Edith shot back. Don't, she reminded herself, don't let her do this. Someone needs to talk to her, and in the worst case scenario, I get to leave at the end of this trip. "We were both sluts, Mary. The one Crawley girl who went to her husband unsullied lies beneath this gravestone. I don't care if you don't believe me, but it isn't the same, because Michael and I were never married. I loved him, but we never formally committed to each other. Our plans never worked out. You're thinking it makes no difference that we didn't marry, but it does. I didn't betray a husband."

"You think I betrayed Matthew?" Mary raised her hand as if to strike her.

"Unintentionally, but yes, you did. You're not to blame, but there's no way this story ever goes away, no matter who you pick. It will always be brought up, it will always be a point to taunt you. If you choose Henry, there will always be people who say you're a shallow, callous bitch who refused to stay wed to a damaged simpleton. If you choose Matthew, there will always be people who say you were a slutty shallow tramp who used Henry Talbot and then discarded him when your titled, rich, presumed to be dead husband reappeared with only minor issues. The child you carry will be a bastard in society's eyes no matter if Matthew puts the Crawley name on it or if you and Henry rush to be wed. Everyone knows you weren't legally married to Henry when you conceived the child." She sighed. "My intent is not to say something ugly to you, Mary. I know, more than you might imagine, how people talk about a child's parentage. I know people will always assume something about Marigold even though the facts are well hidden. No matter who you choose, your child will never escape the gossip because the story is public. Call it a Crawley or a Talbot, it will grow up being called a bastard."

Mary stiffened, her eyes glittering with rage. "You are in your glory, aren't you? You finally get the chance to dig your claws in."

Edith shook her head. "If I wanted to be cruel, I'd say nothing and let you make yourself miserable for the rest of your life, making a decision based on the parentage of your child and not on who you love most. I don't like you when you're miserable, I think we discussed it previously, and you will be miserable if you choose Henry."

"You," Mary pointed her finger, "said I should marry Henry. You all did!"

"Yes, we all did," Edith agreed, "because Matthew was dead and Henry seemed to bring some of the joy you used to have back. In a world where Matthew was dead, Henry made you happy and none of us, even I, could begrudge you that. Now, look me in the eye and tell me you ever would have so much as looked at Henry if Matthew had been at your side, even as he is now?"

Mary tried to maintain her icy glare and then began to sob. "You make it sound so simple and it's not. Choosing Matthew means chaining him to this place, this place he never wanted. I can't… I won't make him give up his happiness. He tells me that he wants me to be happy but if I choose him… I force him to live a life he hates."

Of course Matthew went there, Edith thought tiredly as she watched her older sister sob into her hands, because Matthew was a natural gentleman even if he'd grown up in the middle class. He knew Mary had remarried and was with child, and he knew he would face challenges due to his injuries so he painted his feelings in the worst possible light. So that she would choose knowing all the facts. Which of course made it worse because Matthew was one of the few people Mary loved more than herself, which meant she'd chain herself to Henry in a heartbeat if she thought for a minute that Matthew would be happier in the long run. "Mary… I don't even know where to start. You're… being silly. Worse, you and Matthew are doing the same terrible dance that kept you apart for so long to begin with. Matthew may not have been happy with what life handed him. I see the same thing in Bertie, you know. He never wanted to be the heir. Neither did Matthew. But… I don't think you understand how madly in love with you he is."

"And you do?" Mary hissed between tears.

"Why would he come back at all if he didn't love you? If he really was happy as John Gardener the mystery poet of Cornwall? It's not like he needed the money. His poetry is more than popular, it's sought after. Have you even read his poetry?" Edith wondered. She had gone back, to the many clippings she had kept and read them with the knowledge of just who John Gardener, the man with no past, was and it had startled her to see just how deeply Matthew felt about almost everything in his unremembered life.

Mary shook her head. "No, no, he was too apologetic about… ruining my marriage. He told Isobel that when he first realized who he was, that he considered just saying nothing because he'd found out about my marriage. He only contacted her because he couldn't bear the idea of George not having a father."

"Mary…" The problem was that Mary had worked herself into a froth of emotion over it, to where she wasn't going to see reason. It was frustrating because she realized in an instant that Matthew was indeed being Matthew. As much as he had recovered, he wasn't as he had been. It occurred to her that she and Bertie were the only ones to have seen Matthew in a less than cheerfully accepting environment. Mary, Isobel, and Tom had seen him in his charming new home where everyone was used to him, and at Downton, being Robert's heir insulated him from abuse. But on the train, Matthew had been tired and flustered and barely able to choke out a word because of how poorly he was treated. She was certain, and Bertie agreed, that the train steward had been rude and that if they hadn't come along, Matthew would have been mistreated the entire ride. He wasn't a fool, not at all, and he saw the future difficulties he presented to Mary as a husband, that there would always be that element that would assume he was mentally deficient due to his speaking difficulties. It meant either a life of constant abuse in social settings or Mary accepting that her life would have to change. Matthew had never asked that of her before and no doubt assumed it would make her unhappy. Getting the two of them to see how they were desperately trying to protect the other was the problem. "Matthew thinks you moved on, you married another man and you are having Henry's child. He loves you enough that if you genuinely loved Henry more than him, he doesn't want to ruin it by begging you stay with him. And you love Matthew enough that you don't him to be unhappy as the Earl. Don't you see that this all hinges on how much you love each other? That you're both willing to be miserable if it lets the other be slightly happier? You're both making up obstacles to help the other. You know I'm right about the child, that it doesn't matter who you choose, that people will talk. And Matthew knew the minute he dropped that letter in the mail to his mother that doing so meant resuming his role as Papa's heir, no matter what you decide. Stop dithering."

"And what about Henry in this?" Mary asked. She wiped her eyes. "Do I just discard him after this last year? Toss him out without even a backward glance? I do love him… I feel like these last few months will become nothing but a cruel joke to him."

"Would you rather he find out five years from now, after what love you had died on the vine because you knew you chose him for the wrong reasons?" And she could admit, at least to herself, that she liked Henry enough that she didn't wish that fate on him. Edith pulled Mary into her arms. "Believe me, I know that this isn't easy. But you know your own heart, and Henry deserves his own chance to find happiness."

Much to her surprise, Mary returned the hug. "You're right… I can't believe I am saying you're right but you are… But I have to talk to Matthew." She pulled away and began to recover herself. "I have to be certain…"

"Let the men have their shooting party," Edith suggested. With guests already arriving, it would spare Henry some humiliation if she waited.

"You mustn't tell anyone," Mary warned. She shook her head. "It's not decided. I have to be certain it's what Matthew wants."

"Let's go back to the house," Edith said, taking her by the arm. "I have some of Matthew's poems. You should read them." She hoped it would be eye opening. Her talk with Mary had been eye opening. She hadn't realized how much Mary had shut down her feelings since Matthew had died until Matthew returned and yanked the bandage off, revealing that indeed, Mary Crawley had a heart, a badly battered and sore heart but a heart, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Thomas Barrow let Carson's harping roll off his back as he left the servants hall. It was grating when the older man decided that certain events needed 'a more experienced' touch but considering the number of extra duties he was being saddled with, it was helpful. Carson also did a good job in shutting down the rampant 'who will Lady Mary choose' nonsense as well. He didn't much care, beyond a certain relief in knowing that Matthew Crawley wasn't some huge unknown while Henry Talbot was. Matthew would be the Earl of Grantham when Robert died and whether Lady Mary chose him or not, the man would make changes. It sounded like whatever else he'd been doing living as a bohemian gardener, he'd been making some money as a poet. He wasn't going to bankrupt the estate. In contrast, Thomas had his doubts over Henry Talbot's and Tom Branson's car venture.

He grabbed the small suitcase he'd picked up from Crawley House and made his way upstairs. Matthew was going to stay overnight at the main house for the hunt instead of staying with his mother. It really couldn't be argued with, if anyone had wanted to try to argue with Isobel Crawley. Shooting parties meant the guests would want to bathe and change their clothes and it was silly and unkind to expect Matthew to walk back and forth from Crawley House several times each day when they were hardly stuffing the house to the gills with guests. It also made it easier if he spent the night for him to get a decent amount of rest, something that Thomas suspected was a concern.

So where to put Matthew, he pondered as he walked up the stairs. It would be disrespectful to shove him off into the guest wing, because he was family. But putting him too close to Lady Mary's room would be disrespectful to Henry and invited talk. Near the nursery, he decided, letting a slight smile come to his face. It was close enough that if anyone wanted to meet during the night, it could be passed off as checking on the children.

He was unpacking Matthew's clothes when Matthew himself stepped into the room. "Barrow…I can… unpack my th-th-th-things…" His face grew red, both from the effort and from embarrassment.

What side do I pick, Thomas asked himself. It was easy, really. Matthew was George's father, and George was a kind little boy who adored him despite what he was, and Matthew had always been fair to him. That meant he needed to be diplomatic. "Of course you can, sir. But it is my job to make sure you're taken care of while you stay here. If you need anything, I'll be functioning as your valet and in case Mr. Branson didn't mention it, Mr. Carson is acting as the butler this weekend so that I can be available if you wish to spend time with your son." He didn't see the point in dancing around it. Not when Branson said it was Matthew who had the concern.

If anything, the man turned even flusher with embarrassment. "That's… for G-George's sake. I don't… I don't… want him fr-frightened if s-something happens. I'm s-sorry." The stutter and stammer was much worse for some reason, Thomas realized

"Don't apologize for having good sense, sir," Thomas said it easily. He agreed with the task on several levels. George was five. He was a clever little boy but still very young, and if Matthew had a seizure while they were alone on a walk, there wasn't much danger in it, but it would surely frighten the boy. "I don't mind having a break from managing the wine cellar."

"I s-suppose not… but I d-do appreciate it, B-Barrow." Matthew looked around the room. "This is n-nice." He smiled ruefully. "And it… lets M-Mother and I have… a break."

Barrow found himself nodding along at that. Isobel Crawley was a kind woman, but she could be a bit overbearing in her need to fix and control things. Made worse in that Matthew was her son, and there wasn't much fix to some of the problems. Thomas knew exactly why he'd been designated as Matthew's temporary valet, he had medical training of a sort, and Isobel insisted. He was hardly a nurse but he wondered if a change of scene might help Matthew. As he watched, the man suddenly turned an off shade of grey. Does that mean what I think, he wondered.

"Matthew!" They both jumped at the sound of Lady Mary's voice. She stepped into the room, her eyes completely on Matthew. "Matthew, I need to talk to you. It's important."

It sounded important from the worried yet hopeful tone. She's made her decision, Thomas thought, and why do I think it's about to go toes up? As he watched, Matthew nodded, raised his hand, and then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing nothing but the whites as the man began to twitch. Duly noted, Thomas thought as he dropped the shirts he'd been folding and grabbed Matthew as he collapsed, your stutter gets much worse and you turn white as a ghost right before you decide to thrash about.

"Matthew!" Lady Mary cried out. She dropped to her knees beside them both, and was almost punched for her troubles by Matthew, who was flailing on the floor. "Oh my god, please don't die, please don't do this to me again!"

"Calm down, Lady Mary!" Thomas said as he did his best to stop Matthew from inadvertently striking her. "He's not dying," although it wasn't unheard of for epileptics to die during fits, "he's just having a seizure. It will stop." She watched as Matthew shook uncontrollably, her eyes wide in horror. It lasted longer that the incident two days earlier, Thomas was close to telling her to go call for Dr. Clarkson when the shaking ended. "There," he said, feeling just a touch breathless himself, "he's stopped. Perhaps you could fetch me a towel, Lady Mary?"

"A towel?" She looked at him quizzically.

He gestured to Matthew. "He's a bit frothed up like a mad dog." It wasn't the worst he'd seen, there had been a poor fellow in the wards who not only frothed like an animal while seizing but wet and shat himself. Matthew was lucky to be spared that indignity. "He might feel better if he doesn't wake up like this…"

Mary seemed to shake off her shock. She got to her feet and went to the small attached bathroom and came back bearing a towel. "Was it like this the other night? Why isn't he waking up?" Her worry and fear were obvious and it was making him nervous because Matthew wasn't coming around. Finally, the man's eyes fluttered open. It was a relief, even if the man looked dazed and confused. "Mr. Crawley, let's get you up off the floor and onto the bed."

"W-what?" Matthew was surprisingly limp and shaky in getting up onto the bed. He looked around the room, clearly not understanding what had just happened. "How… how did I… get on the f-floor?" He seemed to almost hug himself as he crossed his arms. "A s-seizure… I h-had a s-seizure…" He shook his head. "I was… t-talking to you… And Mary w-was here…" He looked around, and Thomas wasn't surprised to see that Lady Mary had quietly exited. No doubt to let the man collect himself and to collect herself as well. Matthew might have missed it but he hadn't. Lady Mary had been crying, from fright or concern, it didn't really matter.

"She stepped out. To give you some privacy," Thomas lied easily.

"She… w-was horrified," Matthew wiped his face with the towel. "At least… she knows n-now. What she m-might be choosing. This w-was… a b-bad one…" He patted himself down. "I'm n-not wet… there's that. That c-can happen … with bad ones. I d-don't understand… they haven't… c-come this close t-together in over… over a year."

An idea formed in Thomas's head. Life was different for Matthew in Cornwall. Thomas had listened to the talk as he held trays and served food and Matthew's life was very different in a number of ways. "Mr. Crawley… may I ask you a question?"

"Yes, B-Barrow, of course."

"How often did you drink wine or liquor on say, a weekly basis, in Chepstow?" Thomas had a suspicion, a strong one, that it wasn't often.

Matthew shook his head. "Not… not v-very often really. People t-tend towards… coffee in the artist crowd. It's ch-cheaper for starters. None of m-my friends drink… Why are you… asking that?"

"Because one of the doctors I worked with in the war always told the boys who came back with fits like yours not to drink. That it made someone prone to fits more likely to have them. And here, you have wine and liquor at every meal except breakfast and drinks after dinner as well. May I suggest I replace your wine glasses with water or coffee for meals? And his lordship stocks club soda in his bar so you can stand about with a glass in your hand like everyone else?" Thomas didn't think it would be much of a sacrifice as long as a fuss wasn't made.

"Dr. Alford… he d-did mention that… but I m-might have a… glass of beer once in a while at best. I just… n-never had the habit." Matthew gave him a look. "It won't s-stop the seizures but if it's the tr-trigger… it's worth trying." Then he took in the room, and patted the bed. "Since this… is my r-room for the w-weekend, I might g-get some… rest before dinner."

Cora found Mary sobbing in her room. "Mary, what's wrong?" she asked. What else is wrong, was the real question. There wasn't much else that could go wrong, in Cora's opinion. Except that Mary would choose Henry over Matthew. She didn't dislike Henry, far from it, but she knew who Mary loved best. She also knew that despite her proud patrician disdain, Mary cared deeply about what people thought about her and her family. There were pluses and minuses to both choices. If she chose Matthew, she'd be a loyal wife who went back to a man with failing health as soon as she found out. If she stayed with Henry, many people in society would consider it just and right since she married the man as a widow and his child didn't deserve the stigma of bastardy. The downside to Matthew was that Mary would need to make some significant changes in her life. Matthew was used to a different life, a life he enjoyed, a life where his every moment wasn't a spectacle. Cora doubted he would want to live the way Mary did with Henry, with jaunts to London and parties.

And if Mary chose Henry, the downside was that she'd always know she left Matthew alone of her own free will. She would regret it and have no one but herself to blame. "Mary, you're alone in your bedroom crying, obviously something is wrong."

Mary wiped her eyes. "Matthew had a seizure. I… I hadn't seen one before. It was quite dreadful, Mama. On minute I was about to tell him something and the next he was rolling around on the floor shaking and frothing at the mouth."

"Yes, I imagine it was quite like poor Lt. Reynolds when he was taken with a fit. And I remember how you and Dr. Clarkson tended that man and how you told him that his life wasn't over, that there were many soldiers who had injuries and that people would understand. You even helped him change his pants. I know it's upsetting because it's Matthew but if you're worried that you not strong enough to handle it, you're so wrong." Cora took her hand. "Mary, you are the strongest of my daughters, I've always known that. You have borne heartache that I cannot imagine. I worried, I won't deny it, that you'd never come back from Matthew's death but you did. You were ready to tend Matthew in a wheel chair. This actually looks easier than that. If you choose Matthew, you just have to be careful to not overtax him. It sounds like he's found a lovely way to support himself with the poetry, Edith showed me his work. I'm not surprised he's getting published, he's very good. You enjoy managing the estate." She paused. It wasn't difficult, what she was about to say, just not something people said aloud often. "You're so obviously still in love with him, and him with you. He wants you, he obviously isn't angered that you got married. Yes, Henry will be upset but he'll be more upset if you choose him over the baby and not because you love him more than Matthew. Do you? Love him more than Matthew?" She knew the answer, she just wanted Mary to say it.

"No," Mary admitted. "And Edith made the point to me earlier that the child coming with be… treated shamefully no matter who I choose." Which, Cora thought, was Edith projecting her own fears more than a little. People would talk about Mary's child, but it was hardly the result of illicit behavior on anyone's part. Mary wiped her eyes. "I went to the room we've put Matthew in for the weekend to talk to him to see…if he thought he could bear spending some time here and some time in Cornwall. Only, as soon as I said his name, he started having one of these spells… Mama, it was awful and he could die during them. Cousin Isobel thinks I'm shallow but I'm not. I asked Dr. Clarkson about it. I could choose Matthew and a day, a week, a year from now he could simply have one these fits and die."

"Mary…" How to counter that fear, Cora wondered. It was a reasonable one, one she had herself, made worse that Matthew had been declared dead for so long. It was understandable that Mary feared going through the heartbreak a second time. "Mary, Matthew could die tomorrow, I agree. So could Henry. So could your father. Or you, for that matter. I never expected, when Sybil and I stood outside that evening and watched the sunset that she was seeing her last. And if you knew the fear I had, the fear I still have, when you and your sister talk of children… but you can't live your life fearing death. When your father was so dreadfully ill, I was frightened beyond belief, I admit that. But with that fear came the great joys of my life. You can't spend your life dreading what might happen, Mary."

"I came back from my walk with Edith thinking I knew what to do. And now…Oh Mama, what if Matthew has one of these seizures at a dinner party? It can't be helped, I know that, and people will be so unkind to him. That's what he's been dreading. And I know he'd stand by me in similar circumstances and," her voice hitched, "I don't know that I am as brave as he is, Mama. I don't know that I am worthy."

"Of course you are, Mary," Cora sat down beside her and pulled her into her arms. Mary had been the first to pull away from hugs as a child. It was an indicator how upset she was. The last time she had allowed it had been the day of Matthew's funeral. "Of course you're worthy. If you choose Matthew, you will adapt, because you love him. Are you worried how Henry will react?"

Mary nodded, which wasn't a surprise. Henry was a nice enough fellow, dashing and able to hold his own against Mary, but Cora suspected he'd never been the spurned one in a romance. Truth be told, she worried about how he'd react to Mary deciding upon Matthew. And Mary was going to choose Matthew, it was just a matter of getting the two of them alone together long enough for them to talk uninterrupted.


	12. Chapter 12

Cliff Sims fought the urge to whistle like a school boy with how impressed he was with Downton Abbey. When Matthew had first told his friends that he was increasingly certain that he was Matthew Crawley and not just John Gardener, a man who loved the brilliant play of words even if he could sometimes barely speak, Cliff had discounted some of the description as exaggeration. Matthew said it was an estate, and while Cliff had been raised in a London townhome, he had many friends from school who lived on estates. He knew to expect a big house, and some servants. He didn't expect a lavish near fairytale castle complete with an army of servants.

Well, not an army, he conceded as he took a glass of wine from the butler, but he knew what a struggling estate looked like and the Crawleys weren't struggling in any real sense. He had worried, not a lot but some, that Matthew would either be shuffled off to an asylum by his horrified aristocratic relatives, or worse, be taken advantage of since his new found career was bringing in money that a desperate and poor peerage family could use. He knew Matthew could defend himself but he worried just the same, if only because the man he knew as John Gardener was open and generous and usually thought the best of people and the adjustment from John to Matthew hadn't changed that. Matthew, or John, he still mentally thought of him as John, didn't look for bad acts.

That made it important to watch out for him. Cliff didn't get a bad feel off the family, not even Lady Mary raised his hackles much, and he allowed that he wasn't being fair. The brother in law, Tom Branson, had made the point that her side of things was hardly rainbows and joy. Burying her husband days after their only child was born, grieving, moving on, finally remarrying after years only to find out the first husband was alive… It was a lot to take in. He hadn't met her at her best, and as the formal dinner dragged on, he found himself readjusting his opinion of her. She was worried about Matthew, Cliff had to admit, and he was concerned about how Matthew looked as well. The fits had just about ended, it had been a genuine surprise when it had happened during the elder Mrs. Crawley's visit and yet it apparently had happened twice in the last three days. Matthew had pleased to see both Jeremy and him at dinner but he had that glazed look in his eyes that, if they were in Chepstow, someone would be walking him home. Instead, not only had he sat through a lengthy, awkward dinner, now he was gamely making after dinner conversation with Jeremy and a fellow introduced as Bertie who Cliff was fairly certain was the recently invested Marquis of Hexham and Matthew's other brother in law. Good, he thought as the three of them laughed at a joke, the new brother in law genuinely seems to like him. It wouldn't hurt Matthew a bit to have a higher ranked peer as a friend and backer. And Robert, the father in law and distant cousin seemed pleased to have Matthew there, alive. If Cliff read the man correctly, Robert was hoping but struggling not to push too hard, to have Matthew move back permanently, to act as the heir. Which, Cliff suspected, was stressing Matthew but couldn't be the major issue since Robert was so obviously jovial.

No, the problem was Lady Mary, and Henry Talbot and the unpleasant triangle Matthew made. Matthew and Mary had been madly in love, Tom Branson had told him that, and he saw the signs of it on both. He had the added clue that he knew Matthew as John Gardener, and knew how an otherwise eligible bachelor graciously and constantly turned down offers from women with the comment that he might not know his true self but he knew in his heart that he was spoken for. There were also the haunting, romantic poems about the woman he'd known and forgotten. If Cliff wondered about Lady Mary, he didn't wonder about Matthew's love for his wife at all. It was Mary he needed to check out.

He slowly made his way around the room, stopping to look at several of the paintings. He was amused, when he found some watercolors hidden in an alcove, that Mary obliged him by coming up along his side. "If you're interested in the family art, Mr. Simms," she said easily, "there are much nicer paintings than these to show you. It's a pity you didn't come to visit before we sold some of our Russian collection."

"Oh I find the czarist works a bit too ornate," Cliff said easily. He pointed to the largest watercolor. "This is of your lovely pillars and folly. Did your father have this commissioned? It's quite lovely." It really was, he was impressed with the misty, and almost fairytale feel it had.

For a wonder, Mary blushed and smiled at him. "I suppose Papa did commission it in a way. I painted this when I was sixteen. It was a birthday gift to him, which is why it's still hanging here despite all the much nicer pieces we have in the house. Papa can be terribly sentimental."

She was so blunt in her assessment, he was quite shocked. "Lady Mary… it's really quite good. Do you still paint? Matthew never even hinted at it. " It felt like the sort of thing Matthew would have mentioned, especially when they weren't being very kind about the wife who married another chap. She had talent. He had seen much less impressive work sell.

She shook her head. "Matthew probably never knew. I was a girl then. And then the war came, and I married Matthew…And then I had George and all the joy and sadness that came with that. I do still sketch occasionally." That brought a blush to her face, although he didn't know why. She shook it off. "You're very kind to compliment it. Were the paintings in Matthew's cottage done by you? I was quite struck by them."

"I did paint them, they were repayment for a lovely poem he wrote for my wife's birthday, and don't distract me from my purpose." He gestured to the painting, finding more to marvel about. "This is exquisite work. If you did it as a young girl, I would be greatly curious to see what you produced with an adult perspective. You should come to the summer seminars we hold for the art students in Chepstow."

"If I choose Matthew, you mean." Her words took on a brittle edge.

He bit back an ugly word. Be nice, he reminded himself. She thinks you've taken against her because she didn't run to Matthew's side and you know now there were reasons for that. The woman standing before him looked so delicate, he realized she was almost trembling. She did love him, Cliff saw that written on her face, and she loved the other fellow and it was a nightmare, made worse that no matter who she chose, someone would point their fingers at her in judgement. "No, Lady Mary. I won't deny I hope you choose Matthew, he explained to Jeremy and I the choice he presented and that we weren't to pressure you, but whoever you choose," he pointed to the painting, "you have a gift, and you should explore it. I don't make this suggestion to anyone, Lady Mary, you can ask Matthew. I turn down students all the time. But if this is any indication, your work could rival mine."

She seemed to take his words as a peace offering, if nothing else. "Thank you, Mr. Simms. I will consider it. I must admit, sometimes I fear I am past the age of being able to change with new circumstances. In fact these… new circumstances have… almost paralyzed my ability to make decisions. I almost made one today and then…"

He felt a wave of compassion for her. He suspected part of the problem already. The few minutes alone he'd had with Matthew, Matthew had quietly told him, with some amusement but also with some exasperation, that one of many things he'd forgotten was how desperately tiring the lifestyle of an aristocrat was and that he missed the quiet life in Chepstow and looked forward to returning in a week's time. Looking at Downton Abbey, he could see why Matthew was stressed, and why Mary would find it a difficult decision despite the love she clearly still had. She'd never left her childhood home for any length of time and Cliff suspected Matthew wasn't ready to return to the giant fairytale castle full time. "Not making a decision, Lady Mary, is a decision all on its own. May I give you a piece of advice that your husband once gave me? If you don't change, you die, Lady Mary. Matthew had to change, it certainly wasn't his choice, but I can't help but wonder if seeing him after he's been through the fire, so to speak, if he's not a better, if changed man."

She smiled slightly. "Matthew is a marvelous man, Mr. Simms, and he always was. Thank you for your advice, and the compliment on my silly painting."

"It's not silly," he chided. "And my invitation stands, regardless of the decision you make." He was beginning to see what attracted Matthew to her. Underneath the chilly exterior, there was a fire burning in Lady Mary. He hoped she chose well.

0o0o0o0

Matthew hoped Barrow was right about the alcohol. Even with taking a nap, he felt exhausted and muddled all throughout the lengthy dinner. It was probably best that nothing of any note was being decided, although he was certain that Robert had manipulated him into agreeing to some sort of surprise gift after the weekend ended. The reality was that he would have agreed to being burned alive if it meant he could end the conversation. He hadn't gotten enough rest, he could barely speak and his entire body ached. The only grace he'd been granted was that it was just his arms and legs that were bruised and not his face.

He sipped the glass of club soda and looked around the room. He'd managed to smile and nod at almost everyone there, stuttering out a yes or no when appropriate. It wasn't helped that his head was pounding and he was in a genuinely foul mood. Mary had witnessed the seizure. She hadn't just seen a seizure, she had seen one of the worst he'd had in close to a year and no doubt that was preying on her. And there was nothing he could do. He could give her exactly what she wished, he could give up the ocean, the cottage, and the flower gardens, and live full time at Downton. It wouldn't even be that much of a sacrifice. He'd miss the ocean and the casual, pleasant life of being a common villager, but he'd have dear George and Mary. He could still write, he could even take over the gardens if he wanted, it was no more eccentric than any other affectation of a peer. But… he could never be the man he was. There was always a chance that they could be at a party, or a dinner, or a shoot, and he would collapse in a fit. There was no cure, even the special diet his mother was harping about wasn't a cure. On his own, it was manageable but with Mary, it would be a source of constant embarrassment for her. When that was added to the giant mess of Henry's child, he already suspected that her decision was simple. Choosing Henry meant some momentary talk, but it saved the child an unpleasant label, and the talk would die down in time. If she chose him, the talk would never die. The unborn child would be called a bastard, and every time they had a party or went to an event, there would always be a chance that he'd humiliate her with a public fit. Mary wasn't a shallow little girl, but she also wasn't a masochist and staying married to him meant there would always be a negative spotlight on them.

Which meant he was standing in the library holding a glass of club soda, dressed in evening attire, exhausted with a pounding headache and it was all for nothing. No, he reminded himself, there was George. That made him smile despite it all. Dear little George was worth all the agony, and Mary wouldn't keep him away, he knew that without even needing to think about it.

"What has you smiling?" Matthew almost jumped as Henry came up alongside him. He was struck suddenly by how the man was taller than he was and making a point of trying to tower over him. Lovely, he thought darkly, Henry wants to argue on the one night I genuinely don't feel up for it.

"I was… thinking about G-george and how… how m-much he l-likes the ocean." That was somewhat true, and since Henry had backed away from discussing George before, he hoped it worked.

It didn't. Henry pointed to Sir Andrew McDonald, Dickie's lawyer friend. "Did you hire the lawyer, or did your mother?" Henry's voice held an edge.

"N-neither. He's a… friend of Dickie's." That was also true, in that no money had changed hands, but his gut instincts told him it was a mistake to invite the man to the shoot, even though it was meant innocently. Henry was clearly interpreting it as a threat.

Henry glowered at him. "I'm glad we can speak, just the two of us, if just for a moment. It hasn't escaped me that everyone seems to be conspiring to keep the two of us apart. So I will be brief. You're not the only clever one here. I may not be a lawyer, but I do know some lawyers and Murray put a bug in my ear that I checked out."

Murray, Matthew thought darkly, Robert's lawyer, a man that never had warmed up to him. He suspected Murray felt threatened by him. Robert had been taking his advice more and more before the accident and it was starting to happen again. "What… d-d-did Murray s-say?"

"He said that Mary didn't need to lie in court and accuse you of abandonment or adultery or whatever other false claim you'd come up with in order to let her be in the innocent party asking for the divorce." Henry's green eyes hardened into flinty points. "You really are clever, you understand completely how difficult she would find making a false accusation just to be rid of you. You could be the one to file, but then you're smearing her as an adulteress, and if she files, she's a liar, lying about her beloved first husband who came back from the dead. That would break her heart, Crawley, and I think you know that." Henry paused, as if he was taking aim with his words. "Did the fact that epilepsy is grounds for an annulment slip your mind?"

Of course, Matthew thought, of course Murray went there. "N-no, it d-didn't."

Henry smiled thinly. "Yet you didn't mention it to Mary. Why not? It would absolve her of any guilt, it's certainly true… but it does put you at risk for committal, doesn't it? You're not the gentle, kind, innocent fellow you portray yourself as, Crawley. Do you know how much stress you've put on that woman you profess to love?"

Matthew willed himself to not clench his hands into fists and pound Henry bloody. Why tonight, he thought as he glared at the taller man, when I can barely choke out a word? "Yes… I d-do know. Did… Murray t-tell you what… what h-happens t-to George if the m-marriage is… annulled? He… b-becomes a b-bastard, and… can't inherit after m-me. Did… M-murray t-tell you th-that?"

"Only if Mary insisted on the point," Henry shot back. "And she wouldn't, and your son would be as much of a bastard as you want my child to be, but would still inherit, after you… even if you end up in the asylum. And if your wife annuls your marriage due to your mental weakness, it's that much more likely to happen. That's why you didn't mention this particular option, isn't it?"

Matthew couldn't deny that base fear. He knew what the lunatic asylums were like. Somehow, he knew that Henry hadn't considered how ugly and horrifying his 'easy' solution would really look. It would still humiliate Mary to do it, and everyone would know she was kicking an injured husband to the curb for a less defective model. George's legacy would be preserved in part because the peerage was already bled dry of heirs, but he'd always be marked socially as the offspring of a crazy man. And… Matthew didn't consider himself a saint. He had seen what the asylums for the mentally disturbed were like, if someone attempted to commit him, he'd call in every favor including having his mother plead on his behalf, and exhaust every legal means he could to stay out of the place. Worse, since he was injured and not born with the defect, and since he did have friends and a public persona of John Gardener the poet, any attempt to institutionalize him would be publicized. It would be a hideous circus for the newspapers and it would drag the family through the mud. He somehow doubted Henry had considered how it would end. "If… you th-think… you're r-right… then t-tell her."

Henry looked down at his drink and then at him. "Of course. Then I am the bad one, telling her how to rid herself of you."

It was suddenly heartening. Henry knew about the seizure he'd had that afternoon, Mary would have told him, and the man was still worried about who she would choose. Worried enough that he had at least considered how Mary might take his suggestion as a blunt attempt to force her hand. "I will t-tell her t-tomorrow. Have you… c-considered… how I m-might present… this option?" He smiled as Henry's smile faded. No, Matthew thought with no small amount of amusement, I didn't think you had considered that.


	13. Chapter 13

Having two husbands on a shoot was decidedly awkward, Mary realized quickly. A wife's role was to stand with her husband but with two, it made for uncomfortable looks from everyone as she walked amongst the shooters. She smiled at both men as they prepared their guns and shot looks at each other. "I thought," she said carefully, loud enough for all the men to hear, "That I would stand with Matthew during the morning shoot and then this afternoon, I would be with Henry. Does that sound fair to both of you?"

She didn't want a fight over it. She couldn't be with both and she doubted that they wanted to shoot together. Matthew nodded and smiled pleasantly at her words, he and Tom were examining their shotguns. Henry also nodded, but there was no smile. He looked like he was covering his anger by clenching his jaw and making a show of fiddling with his gun. Oh drat, Mary thought, he thinks this is some sort of competition. She had told him once that Matthew had grown to like shooting and while Henry wasn't a terrible shot, like a lot of younger men raised on smaller estates, he was out of practice and worried that he'd be bested by her first husband. Made all the funnier because while Matthew had grown to like shooting, he had never been particularly good at it. Matthew liked walking around in the woods, having snacks and drinks with the other men, sharing jokes and stories and even occasionally a cigar. As far as killing birds went, Matthew often joked the birds flocked around him because they knew they were safe.

She walked over to Henry, to sooth his bruised ego. "If you're upset about not being first, please don't be." She looked back at Matthew, who was yawning as he made a joking remark to Tom, and his friend Jeremy. "Matthew is putting on a good show, but he's still recovering from yesterday. He'll shoot this morning, have lunch with everyone in the field, and then his friend Jeremy, the police inspector, plans to talk him into heading back to the house so they can do something quiet in the afternoon."

Henry made a scoffing noise. "Does Matthew know this?"

"Of course not." Matthew was falling into the old habit of pleasing everyone but himself. She suspected he was gutting it out instead of asking for quieter activities, just gritting his teeth and going along with all the plans because he knew he'd be back in Chepstow in a week. Jeremy had suggested the subterfuge, and she had agreed since if Isobel saw Matthew looking as tired at the evening dinner as he had looked the night before, the older woman was likely to send him to bed like a child. And since Matthew tended to snap when he was tired, that meant Isobel and Matthew having a fight—which no one wanted or needed to see. "I wanted to be fair, and spend time equally with you both."

He smiled and nodded. "I accept your gentle chiding, Mary. I have no reason to be jealous, you're being very fair. And Matthew does look a bit peaked. For all this is a vacation for him, I wonder if his mother might not have the right of it. Perhaps this has been a little too much for him." He glanced up at the cloudy, overcast sky. "Speaking of being ill, it looks like it could rain. If you were with me, I'd send you to the house as soon as the rain started so that you don't catch your death. I suspect that Matthew agrees with me on this."

And are you being nice in your concern, Mary wondered, or are you planting the seed in my head that Matthew's health is tenuous. She was sorely tired of wondering what Henry meant with his remarks. "As if I would want to stand out in the rain for no apparent reason, Henry."

"Well, you do baffle me at times, Mary," Henry said, his tone teasing but light. More seriously he added, "I just worry about you and the baby."

He was at his charming best, she couldn't deny it and she leaned in and kissed his cheek, forgetting herself. She regretted it, and didn't, all at once. She regretted it because Matthew likely saw it, her back was to him but he would know she kissed Henry, and she didn't like rubbing it in his face that she was with another man. She didn't regret it because she did love Henry and she was carrying his child and she had lived with Henry for over six months as his wife. There was no reason to deny that they were physically affectionate.

Matthew did look annoyed and so did Tom. Tom actually glowered. Oh good lord, Tom, she thought darkly as she walked over to them, you're not my third husband in this. Matthew for his part covered his annoyance easily. He smiled at her. "I don't… mind if you want to be with Henry," he said as she approached. "For the shoot." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "I otherwise d-don't concede."

"For a gardener, you're still such a lawyer, Matthew." She gave Tom a look and hoped he got the message. She wanted to talk to Matthew alone, and being with him on the shoot was an easy way to do it. She had wanted to talk to him the day before, she had almost made the decision and then she had witnessed his seizure and it had stayed her hand. It also made her think, that she didn't want to be entirely hasty. There were things that needed to be discussed. Outside, in the woods with guns going off, they could even argue without anyone noticing.

Tom nodded slightly. "I promised Evans I'd shoot with him. He's not very good either so we can talk about cars." He gave her a knowing look. Matthew was distracted by her father, and Tom stepped over to her side. "You need to be alone to talk, don't you? About your decision?"

"I need to be certain," she said quietly, "that I'm not deciding to make him miserable. I won't have that, Tom."

"Then be certain," Tom said, "but remember that he's been back a few days now and might be more willing to bend. He's been under a lot of stress but he's also been enjoying himself."

"Are you choosing a side? I thought you were neutral." It intrigued her. Tom had been the man who she had gone to for advice on all sorts of things over the last five years, but she had felt honor bound to not press him when he made it clear he didn't want to choose between two men he considered friends.

Tom looked down at his feet and then over at Henry. "I thought it was an even fight. After seeing you, with Matthew again… I want you to be certain too. So that we can all start considering what the future will look like. And so people can start moving on." He smiled at her. "I know you'll choose wisely."

"Thank you, Tom," she said, meaning it dearly. Just then, Matthew strode back from talking with her father. "Has Papa assigned us an area?"

"Yes… Although I… don't know why…" Matthew shrugged good-naturedly. "We both know I'm terrible at this." He waited until they stepped away from the main group to say, "If Henry is angry, I… don't mind waiting."

"Henry isn't going to be happy until I make a decision." she said as they began walking in the woods, "Which means I must make a decision soon." She looked around, making sure the other shooters and their attendants were a distance away. She saw Bertie and Edith off in the distance, Edith was looking radiant as she laughed at something Bertie said. Matthew followed her gaze.

"Marriage s-suits Edith," he said carefully. "I… always suspected that. I thought… that marriage suited you and I…" He took aim on a bird and fired, making her jump. "I got it."

"You've gotten better despite no practice," Mary said. She hesitated. "Marriage does suit you and I, Matthew." She walked alongside him, quiet for the longest time, hoping she said it the right way. "I… want to stay married to you."

That stopped him dead in his tracks. He spun around and stared at her, his expression both joy filled and wary. "Don't toy with me, Mary. Have you… decided?"

"We have to talk." Mary crossed her arms, struggling to phrase it correctly. "I won't… I refuse to take away the things that make you happy."

Matthew blushed. "You… make me happy. You and George." Thunder rumbled all around them. She hoped it wasn't an omen.

"I know," she said easily, covering how it warmed her heart, "and you make me happy and I can't even describe to you what it was like to see you again or how seeing you and George together heals everything inside of me that I didn't even realize was still broken. But, I never really thought about how you were… stuck in a role you didn't want, that you still don't want. I refuse to make you give up a life you've made for yourself, a life you're proud of."

He cocked his head, obviously curious. "Do I… have to? Mary… Our lives aren't b-black and white. We're n-not who we were. Compromise… is p-possible." He grinned, a certain relief coming to his eyes. "We're… negotiating t-terms. Both sides have to g-give. I will… give first." He took a deep breath. "I can write here. I have… already." He looked suddenly shy.

"Edith showed me your poems." Her voice caught. "I knew you loved me, I always knew that, but your sonnets… it's like you were missing me even though you couldn't remember me, as though I was haunting you." It was more than that, it was as though he knew he'd given his heart and was living in a sort of torment, knowing there was a life, a love, that he was missing. The rain clouds that had been threatening began to gently mist down on them. "I betrayed you while you were loyal despite your injuries. I don't deserve any concessions to you, no terms." She began to cry.

He stepped in and pulled her into a hug. "No," he whispered into her ear, "you n-never betrayed me, Mary. You thought… That I was dead. You mourned me d-decently. There is no reason for you to blame yourself." He kissed her on the lips, and for the longest moment, she lost herself in the joy of being in his arms. Reluctantly, she pulled away and wiped her eyes.

"I won't let you sacrifice everything you've built in Cornwall. You have a life there, and friends." She held her ground. They were beyond petty things like parties and attending social functions, she had already seen him forcing himself to fill the role he didn't like. "Do you want to live in Cornwall?"

"Yes but… Mary…" He grinned in that way he had when he knew he was about to pleasantly surprise her. "It's… a f-few hours on the train. Or you c-could learn to drive. There's m-money. Money I make on m-my own. I could have electricity and a phone put in if you w-want that. There's bedrooms… for George and a nanny. He l-loves the ocean and m-maybe… we could split our time." He smiled more broadly. "The gardens here are dr-dreadful and the storms off the ocean can be c-cold. I wouldn't mind fall and w-winter here. Or weekends? You w-will be m-managing the estate… after all. I w-won't take you entirely from y-your home."

It made her laugh, despite the rain that was beginning to fall more heavily. "I really don't care what we arrange as long as you're happy and we're together." She looked up at the sky, the rain clouds growing ever darker. "We should head back to the start, there was a tent there. Papa thought it might rain and Henry…" The thought of Henry stopped her in her tracks. "I have to tell Henry."

"I will be at your side, if you n-need me," Matthew began, but Mary shook her head.

"It's my duty to him, Matthew, and you being there would just make things ugly and accusatory." In fact, as the rain started to grow heavier, it occurred to her that if she didn't want to humiliate Henry, she would need to wait until the shooting party was over to break it to him that he wasn't going to remain her husband. "He deserves to hear it from me, and me alone."

"That's f-fair," Matthew said, his joy still plain on his face. Then, as the thunder rumbled all around them, almost shaking the leaves from the trees, his expression changed to a frown. "I must… warn you. Murray told Henry… a l-legality that could be exploited." She could see he was struggling to find the right words. "Ep-epilepsy is grounds for… a marriage annulment. I d-didn't mention it and Henry… feels I am man-manipulating you." He took a deep breath. "I didn't mention it… because it d-disinherits George, and would m-mean I would have to…. Remarry and have another son and… I d-don't have any wish to do that. Henry thinks I d-didn't mention it because such a l-legal issue puts me at risk for… involuntary committal." He shook his head. "That was n-not a concern. I didn't mention it because of George's future. Henry d-doesn't realize how… difficult it would be, and that he'd drag us all through the m-mud for n-nothing." He smiled suddenly. "If nothing else… my m-mother would take off her gloves and… reveal how protective she r-really is."

It made her laugh because it was so true. Isobel would rip Henry limb from limb. "I believe you, Matthew. But do you think he'd do such a thing? As if I'd stay with him after he tried something so spiteful."

"I think… He was more c-concerned that I was f-forcing you to insist I lie to let you divorce me when you c-could… just use this other option. But…" Matthew cradled the shotgun in his arms. "He seems a d-decent man but this… will touch his pride. It could get… ugly. Especially if… Murray assists him."

She took his free hand and squeezed it firmly. "Then we shall face that together. I think though, that once his initial anger passes, he will accept my decision." If she understood the law, she thought as they walked through the increasingly wet woods, Henry had to accept her decision. He could raise the specter of Matthew's health, and she could see where it worried Matthew, but she could also tell that he wasn't fearful of being locked away. He was fearful of the family being dragged into the spotlight even more than it already had. She was more concerned about the baby. It would be a Talbot, she wasn't going to break her promise to Henry, but the law favored Henry in that he could insist on taking the child away from her. That is a problem for months from now, she chided herself as she slipped on the wet path.

The thunder cracked overhead, as loud as she'd ever heard it, and she startled Matthew and let go of his arm, only to realize she was on the edge of a small, steep, creek bed. The thunder sounded again, she felt the sound as much as she heard it and she grabbed a small sapling to steady herself, only for it to snap in her hand. "Oh!"

Matthew dropped the shotgun and grabbed for her. For a second, she thought she had his hand but then she slipped back and tumbled down the steep incline towards the water. The last thing she saw was the wet rocks that lined the stream rushing towards her. Then she saw no more.


	14. Chapter 14

Elsie Hughes watched the rain come down in sheets from the library windows. She had been checking up on the temporary girls hired to help with the extra housekeeping when she saw the rain start pouring down. There was a tent out in the woods, the older Lord Grantham got, the more he liked a certain amount of comfort in the field, but it was down pouring and it didn't look to let up any time soon. That meant that the guests would pour into the house as soon as their many cars could bring them, and everyone would likely want hot baths, dry clothes, and warm drinks. "You girls finish up quickly and go upstairs and prepare the guest bathrooms with fresh towels. This rain will drive them all back to the house. I'll tell Mr. Carson to prepare the games and billiards rooms."

Carson and Barrow, she reminded herself as she left the room, and she couldn't help but admit, at least to herself, that Barrow was handling the situation far better than she ever would have thought. Even Carson, who was generally loathe to admit anything good about Barrow had admitted to her the night before that it was good to see Thomas shaping up. She rather thought Thomas saw where the wind was blowing. She suspected it wouldn't be long before Mr. Matthew was back at Downton more than less. He professed to love Cornwall, and she could see a certain longing in his eyes, but she could also see that he was still madly in love with Lady Mary. Still in love and smart about it, that was an interesting change. Lady Mary was always at her worst when she thought she was being pursued and Mr. Matthew had quite cleverly put it all back on her. Lady Mary needed to choose her own fate. She was the sort that always found a reason to be put out if she was told to do something even if it was for her own good. If anything had convinced her that Mr. Matthew's injuries hadn't affected his intellect, it was he was handling Lady Mary as adeptly as a chess master.

As she stepped into the great hall, the front doors flung open and Matthew rushed in, holding Lady Mary in his arm. They were both drenched wet, and blue with cold, and while Matthew looked muddy and scratched, Lady Mary was unconscious and blood was trickling from her head. Matthew looked at her, his terror and worry plain on his face, his eyes pleading. "I… M-m-m…"

"What happened?" Elsie asked. Matthew looked at her and then at Lady Mary, sputtering with no sound coming out of his mouth. Then he shook his head, his expression shamed and desperate. He loses his words when he's surprised, Elsie remembered, Lady Mary said he could barely choke out a word when they first met in Cornwall because he was so shocked. The sheer frustration on his face struck her. It reminded her of her sister, a gentle soul if simple, who sometimes had the same problem when they were little. "Never mind, that's not important." She grabbed one of the new girls that had followed her into the hall. "Go to the phone, call the hospital, and tell Dr. Clarkson that Lady Mary is injured. Then get Mr. Barrow, Mr. Carson, and Mr. Bates and tell them the same. Then go to the parlor and tell Lady Cora. Mr. Crawley, we'll take Lady Mary to her bedroom."

Matthew followed her up the stairs like a puppy. She wasn't surprised at all, he had the look of someone who was close to his own limits, and like most men, he was a mess when it came to his own wife and children. She pushed him out of the way as she grabbed some towels. In a matter of seconds, Carson was there, looking breathless and frightened, another useless hand, Lady Mary was the child of his heart if not his body and she could see instantly that he would be little help. Barrow was right behind him, which was a relief. "Mr. Carson, get me a basin of warm water and some gauze. Then have the girls downstairs fetch some more blankets and some wood for the fire here. Mr. Barrow, you know more about injuries."

"Right, what happened?" Barrow looked at Matthew and seemed to sense the problem. "Right…" He handed over the notepad and pencil he was holding. He and Carson had been ordering wine, Elsie realized. "Write down what happened, Mr. Crawley."

It was a pity, Elsie thought, not for the first time, that Barrow wasted so much of his intellect on bedeviling others because he was really quite clever. Of course it was easier for Mr. Matthew to write than speak. He took the pad of paper from Thomas and the pencil fairly flew across the paper despite his shaking hands. Then he handed back to Thomas and shivered violently. Thomas read it in a flash.

"Lady Mary and he were out on the hunt, away from everyone and she slipped and fell down the side of that steep gully near the Stanton tenancy. She hit her head on the rocks and went into the water. He went in after her, the rain is making the creek flood so by the time he was able to get her out of the water, he was closer to the house than the rest of the hunters and he carried her here." Barrow gave him an appreciate nod. "That was the right thing to do, Mr. Crawley. We've got Dr. Clarkson called. Did she wake up at all?"

Matthew shook his head, his expression worried. "N-n-no…"

Barrow nodded and led him to the door where Bates was waiting. "You're in almost as bad of shape as she is. Mr. Bates, get him into dry clothes, put him near a fire and get him something hot to drink, preferably with no alcohol." Matthew started to sputter a protest, but Bates cut him off.

"Let Barrow and Mrs. Hughes take care of Lady Mary, Mr. Crawley. You've gotten her here safely, and Barrow is right, you're shaking from the cold and wet. You're no help to anyone if you collapse from hypothermia." Bates led the man off while Barrow helped her with toweling off Lady Mary's unconscious form. He looked at the gash on the side of her head. "I suppose it's lucky she already cut her hair. This will need stitches but it doesn't look too bad."

Elsie nodded. They had all seen worse in the war. "I'm more worried that the shock and stress might… affect the baby."

Barrow shook his head. "She's no delicate flower, our Lady Mary."

0o0o0o0

Henry slammed on the breaks, spinning the car and making the gravel on the drive fly. He jumped out and rand to the door, not listening to Evans and Tom shouting at him to wait. He spotted Clarkson's car as he ran, and felt a twinge of relief. At least they called the bloody doctor, he thought as he pushed through the ladies that were buzzing about the grand hall and ran up the stairs. Although it was Clarkson, the idiot whose mistake had led to the entire mess he was in. He pushed that away as he went down the hall, taking notice only of Matthew leaning against a doorway in different clothes, holding a steaming mug in both hands like he was soaking up the warm.

Lady Cora stopped him before he got to the door. "Henry, Dr. Clarkson is with her right now. He doesn't think she's in any serious danger, she's had a bad fall and knock to the head but so far, he says the baby is all right."

His first fear, that she was somehow dead, and his second, that the dear child was harmed, began to ease off, but only a little. "What happened?"

"Mary slipped and fell into the creek," Cora spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, as there were more and more guests coming in from the hunt. "Matthew jumped in to rescue her and carried her back here."

Matthew. Henry felt his entire body clench up with rage as he let that roll around in his head. Mary had wanted some time alone with Matthew, he had known that, especially when she took pains to explain to him how carefully she was arranging it. There had been a decisive air around her that morning, she had been nervous but calm. It rose up in his mind what had happened, what had really happened. Mary did love the man, he didn't doubt that at all, and she had wanted to take Matthew aside privately and break it to him that she did indeed want a divorce. And Matthew… Matthew liked to portray himself as a gentle little mouse of a man, and Henry could admit, he'd been fooled by it at first, but it was a façade. There had been far too many cleverly set up attacks over the last week, and Matthew no doubt thought he was winning the war, only to find out Mary wasn't going to stay married to him.

Henry spun around and grabbed Matthew, slamming him into the wall. "What did you do to her?"

"I… d-didn't do anything." Matthew shoved him back. "She… f-fell. It w-was an accident." His eyes, always an intimidating blue, flashed with ice cold anger. "It was wet, there's a bloody downpour… Why… would I d-do anything to Mary? We were heading b-back to the tent…."

"Really?" Henry grabbed him and slammed him into the wall again. It felt good. "You aren't fooling me, Crawley! She told you that she wanted a divorce, didn't she? And you lost your temper and hit her! If anything happens to her or the baby, I will kill you!" He punched Matthew in the eye.

Matthew punched him in the gut and then in the nose. "Why w-would I hurt her? It's y-you in the way!" Henry was rocked back by blows as Matthew lept on him, knocking him to the floor. "I have tried… to be fair, and r-respectful even though you're sleeping with _my_ wife in _my_ bed and throwing out ugly accusations about _my_ competence!" He threw punches with every word until Dickie and Robert pulled him off. Tom and Evans pulled Henry up even as Matthew continued shouting. "It's _your_ f-feelings that she's d-dancing around!"

"You're manipulating her!" Henry shot back. They both dove at each other, only to be held back by the increasingly large group of men and women gathered in the hallway to see the spectacle.

Then Dr. Clarkson stepped out of the bedroom, a cross look on his face. "What are you people doing out here? Lady Mary needs quiet, not a prize fight!"

Henry stopped struggling. "How is she? Is the baby all right? Did she say what happened?" He wiped his face nervously, realizing that Matthew's punch to his nose had probably broken it. Matthew's eye was already turning black. So we both look like prizefighters, he thought with a sniff.

Clarkson looked at them both and frowned. "She's badly knocked her head, and I had to suture her scalp. She did come around, once we got her warmed up but she was a bit muddled… She told me that she slipped and fell into the creek and hit her head on the rocks. Right now I think she's in no danger. She is a little feverish from being in the water and the cold, and she needs to be kept warm while she rests quietly." He waited just a moment and nodded to Henry. In a lower voice he added, "The baby is fine for now, but Lady Mary has taken a bad fall and very much needs to be kept calm and quiet for the next few days. That means, in particular, that she doesn't need the added stress of her two husbands pummeling each other outside her door." He eyed both of them, and then the crowd of people. "I am sure that Lord Grantham would prefer it if everyone availed themselves to his hospitality downstairs?"

Robert nodded, the relief plain on his face. "I think between the rain and Lady Mary's accident and ensuing chaos… we've all had enough excitement." He turned to Cora. "I trust with all this excitement and cold chilly rain, that we might all prefer some fine brandy and perhaps some card playing?"

Cora waved at him, smiling. "As if you need my permission to break out the brandy and cigars early. Once everyone has freshened up, I'm sure we can all find some quiet activities for the afternoon and evening."

Clarkson nodded. "I'll stay, to keep an eye on Lady Mary. She should be fine but like I said, she needs to rest from the fall and let everything settle." He looked at the two men. "That means you both need to leave her alone, and leave each other alone. I assume you two are done fighting, so why don't you find different places to be? I'll check on you both once I have Lady Mary set to rights." He went back into Mary's bedroom and closed the door.

The people began to disperse. Tom pulled him aside. "Come to my room. I'll have the servants bring you some clothes to change into."

Henry knew that tone. He waited until they were safely inside Tom's bedroom to ask. "What have I done to upset you, Tom?" he asked as Tom handed him a washcloth for his nose.

Tom crossed his arms and glared at him. "I promised I wouldn't take sides but you owe Matthew an apology."

"For giving him a punch?" Henry chuckled. As he wiped the blood off his face, he added, "In case you missed it, I think he got the best of me." Which was irritating but his own fault for assuming Matthew was a mouse.

Tom frowned even more. "No, you owe him an apology for accusing him of hurting Mary. For God's sake, Henry, Matthew would never hurt a woman and would never stand for a woman being hurt. Do you know how I first got to know him? Really know him? He helped me rescue Sybil from a political rally that got nasty. One of the rowdies knocked Sybil down and Matthew beat him and cleared the way with his fists. The only time he raises his fists is when a woman is threatened, and one of those times was defending Mary. If she chooses you, it will break him, but he will accept it graciously. He won't…. strike Mary or try to kill her. That's insane and you were unbelievably rude and spiteful to suggest it. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking," Henry said tiredly, "that he was left alone with my wife for an hour or two and she almost died."

"And she didn't, because she was with him, and when she fell, he went into the water to rescue her and then carried her here and if you didn't notice, he looked pretty well done in by it." Tom took a deep breath and then let it out. "Maybe you should consider what he said, that he's been pleasant and not rude about how you're living in his home, with his wife, sharing his bed with her…"

"Don't forget living off his money," Henry shot back, "and he hasn't had to say it since everyone else is." He sat down on Tom's bed and held his head in his hands, struggling not to weep. "I did nothing wrong, Tom. She said her husband was dead. I love her, and I married her and I have treated her son like he was my own… When he was just a ghost, I think she could love me, knowing she could never have him again. And now he's back and… he's not just a shining knight, he's handsome and kind and generous to a fault. Is there anything I do that Matthew isn't somehow better at? Despite all of his damage?"

After a moment, Tom surprised him by laughing. "You'll always be the better driver, Henry. No one can argue that."

Henry couldn't help but laugh as well. If it was the laughter of the condemned, he reconciled himself to knowing the child would be a Talbot. And he hadn't lost yet.


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm afraid I have ruined your hunting weekend on so many levels, Papa," Mary said as she set down her tea cup on the tray by her bed. "I really don't feel that poorly, Dr. Clarkson." The idea of remaining in bed for the next few days rankled.

Her father gave Clarkson a look and the older man shook his head. "You had a bad tumble. Lady Mary, and you and the baby were very lucky that Mr. Crawley got you out of the water and back to the house before any serious damage took place. You've been under a great deal of stress. You were lucky that the fall didn't cause anything more than a headache, a bad cut, and some bruises. With the exposure to the cold and water, you need to be careful. A few days of quiet is not torture, you know." The doctor gave her a knowing look. "You might find you enjoy the break."

"Am I allowed to see people? I'm sure that Matthew and Henry are likely worried sick?" She looked to her father who nodded, but also looked chagrinned.

"Henry is in the billiards room, smoking cigars and sulking with his friend Evans, and Matthew is in the games parlour, sulking, and letting his friends and Dickie and Bertie beat him at cards." As she asked the question with her eyes, Robert added, "They had a fight, Mary."

"Quite the fight, really," Clarkson said, a frown coming to his face. He rose to his feet. "I'll let you tell the tale your lordship. I should get back to the hospital. Lady Mary can have visitors as long as they are calm and quiet and don't pummel each other bloody in front of her."

She waited until he left to press her father. "What happened, Papa? Are they all right?" She doubted anything was terribly wrong, Matthew was even tempered and gentle to a fault, and Henry for all his posturing was much the same.

Robert sighed as he resumed his seat at her bedside. "Sometimes Mary, I wish you didn't delight in drawing things out. They're all right, but they did fight. Henry was so worried about you, he lost his temper and accused Matthew of harming you because you must have insisted on being alone with him on the hunt in order to spurn him gently."

"Oh good heavens, I do adore Henry but sometimes it amazes me, his inability to read a room," Mary said easily. "That's… not why I insisted on going with Matthew first, Papa. To spurn Matthew, I mean."

Robert rolled his eyes at her. "Of course it wasn't, Mary. I'm not a fool and I have known who you would choose in this debacle since the moment you slapped Isobel's face. It was just the details that needed to be worked out." He gave her a dark look. "Please tell me the details are worked out? I know it's awkward but the more this decision drags, the more fights I'll be refereeing. As it is, Henry has a broken nose and Matthew has a black eye, and I will be getting a lecture from Cousin Isobel on how I was supposed to make sure Matthew didn't come to any harm while spending the weekend under my roof and not hers."

"Oh I dare say you'll get more than a lecture, Papa," Mary laughed as she spoke and then winced. Her head did hurt, she couldn't deny that, or that the idea of getting out of bed made her stomach cringe. "If Matthew has an actual bruise visible, I fear you will need Mama at your side to protect you."

"I was planning to have your grandmother with me," Robert admitted with a laugh. Then his expression grew more serious. "If your decision is made, then it's time you relieved both of them of their fears, Mary."

"Matthew knows, Papa." She smiled at the memory of Matthew, standing in the rain, grinning like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "We haven't worked out the details yet… I had wanted to wait to tell Henry until after the shooting party but… He isn't going to be any less angry." She sighed. "I am treating him very badly, Papa."

"Would you be treating him better if you lied to him, Mary? Or if you kept him dangling when you know you've made your decision?" Robert rose to his feet. "I'll send Matthew up first. I'm hoping you can set his mind at ease that you're going to be fine. Once you've settled him, then talk to Henry." He gave her a look and sighed. "And I will make sure that the good whiskey is out for him to drown his sorrows in."

He left and a few minutes later, there was a tentative knock on the door. "Mary…. May I c-come in?"

A devilish thought came to her. "Come in," she called, struggling not to smile as Matthew stepped into the room.

"Robert said… you wanted to talk?" His right eye was puffy and dark, and he looked even more exhausted than he had the night before. It made her doubt her plan but only for a moment.

She looked quizzically at him. "I told Papa to send my husband in… Who are you? I was supposed to marry Patrick…."

Matthew stopped in his tracks, his expression so dumbfounded and horrified, she started giggling. "I'm sorry," she said between laughs, "I just couldn't resist… Oh the look on your face!" She laughed even more.

He sputtered and pointed his finger at her, shaking it. "You… I…"Then he started laughing as well. "That… that was mean, Mary." He was still laughing as he took the seat by her bedside that her father had recently vacated. "That… I can't… You're awful…" He tried to stop laughing and couldn't.

Mary continued giggling with him. "You earned that! Now you know what it's like! Except that there was great big funeral…" And that was still an awful memory, even with him sitting right in front of her, and she managed to stop laughing. "Your eye looks dreadful."

He grinned as he gently touched the bandaged side of her head. "Then… we're a m-matched pair. I don't… usually say this but you look awful, Lady Mary." Then he leaned in and kissed her. She returned it but pushed him back after a moment.

"We can't… I'm to rest quietly, according to Dr. Clarkson. For the baby's sake, although if falling down that cliff didn't dislodge the poor thing, then I suspect I am in for a terribly long labor when the time comes." A tough little baby, she thought with no small amount of pride, Crawleys were tough and she suspected the Talbot side would only enhance the baby's will to fight. No matter what was said, she no longer feared whether the child would find a good place in their world.

Matthew shifted back, smiling but disappointed. He grinned wryly at her. "You're… right but… Do we r-really trust Dr. Clarkson? I think Dr. Alford should b-be our family physician… I mean, he's never d-declared me dead."

She started laughing again. "I accept your terms. But I need to talk to Henry. I won't feel right until he knows." It wasn't cheating, it just felt wrong. Henry needed to know.

Matthew looked disappointed but he stood up. "I will have Robert t-tell him. He's not… very h-happy with me since… I broke his nose."

This has just been an afternoon of horrors for poor Henry, Mary thought with more than a little sympathy. I must be kind to him, she told herself. But then another thing struck her. She eyed Matthew carefully. "You called Papa Robert. Not Donk. I thought there was some odd damage that made it impossible for you to say his name…."

Matthew shook his head. "I n-never said that." His eyes twinkled with merriment. "I just… think calling him Donk is f-funny. And everyone is so… self-conscious about m-my stutter, no one d-dares correct me."

"You are terrible!" Mary laughed. Oh, she thought as he left the room, we are a pair. She was suddenly surprised at how calm and joy filled she felt, despite how badly her head hurt, and how she was about to break Henry's heart. This is the right path, she realized, we're on the right path and everything will be all right. And I have to thank Edith of all people because she was so very right. Henry needed to be set free so he could find his own happiness.


	16. Chapter 16

Henry steeled himself before he knocked on the bedroom floor. It wasn't going his way. He'd felt it before, in races. Matthew had somehow pulled away from him and taken the lead. He wanted to pretend it wasn't true, that he couldn't understand it, but Tom was right. If they hadn't met while fighting over Mary, Matthew and he would have been friends. Even in his damaged state, he was witty and funny, while rarely being mean spirited about it. As angry as Henry felt over the very idea that Mary was hurt, with a few hours, a few glasses of whiskey to ease the pain of his broken nose, Tom had the right of it. Matthew had been a gentleman about the entire situation and would never hit a woman for any reason. Worse, there was something between Mary and Matthew, something he had never seen between Mary and himself. He had never seen Mary be so open. He had penetrated some of her walls but the ones that remained, he had left alone, assuming them either unassailable or surrounding things too painful. Like her beloved first husband who died so tragically, who she rarely spoke of, and always with pain. With Matthew, it was as though the walls around her heart weren't even there. They had been apart for five years but fallen back in so quickly it was like watching two very old friends. Mary sometimes even finished Matthew's halting sentences as if she had always done so.

He knocked. "Mary, it's me. Your father said you wanted to see me."

"Come in, Henry," she called.

She sounded well enough, he thought as he walked into the room. Not weak or sick, while he no longer trusted any diagnosis Dr. Clarkson made, Mary sounded like herself. She was sitting up in the bed, surrounded by pillows. The left side of her head was bandaged, and he could see dark bruises from the fall on her face. She smiled at him, her expression tired. "Please, feel free to say I look frightful."

He grinned easily as he took a seat beside the bed. "You look as lovely as the day we met, Mary." The glib words rolled off his tongue before he even had to think. "Dr. Clarkson says the baby should be all right as long as you stay quiet but frankly, I think we should get a second opinion, all things considered."

Mary laughed, and then winced just a bit. "Poor Dr. Clarkson… he should consider retiring." She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "The baby will be just fine, Henry. Our little Talbot is made of strong stuff, I think." Her smile faded slowly. "Between your nose, and Matthew's eye, we all look much battered from the day. Papa chided me, you know, for putting two bulls in a pen and not expecting a fight. I'm sorry I've made you both upset. In a different world, I think you'd both get on."

"Tom says that as well, but unfortunately we're at loggerheads because of our affection for you," he said easily. Her eyes were filled with relief, he realized. She's relieved that the decision has been made, and internally he quailed. Gently, he asked. "Have you decided, Mary?"

She looked down at her hands and sighed. "I have, Henry. I think… I think I knew what my heart wanted as soon as I heard the news from Papa and Isobel. I'm sorry, Henry, but I love Matthew and I am choosing to stay married to him."

"No. You can't." He was careful to not grip her hand too hard. He tried to think of something, anything that would convince her. "Mary, he's not well. He's never going to manage the formal side of your life. What if he has one of these bloody fits while at a formal dinner?"

Mary looked at him coolly. "It will happen, and when it does, I imagine I will suggest he excuse himself from the remainder of the evening and lie down, unless he feels up to rejoining the party."

"And what if he dies, Mary?" Henry stood up and paced around the room. "Do you realize how likely it is? If you do this now, and think I'll come running back when he's dead within a year, guess again"

"Does that really trouble you, Henry?" she asked calmly. "My mother and I recently had this conversation. Any one of us can die at any moment. I could have died this morning. Yes, Matthew could have one of these fits and never come out of it. He could fall down the stairs or have a heart attack at forty two the way his father did." She paused for a long moment. "I've wronged you, Henry, and I regret that, because you are a wonderful man and I do love you."

"But not enough," he hissed. It felt as though she yanked every nerve in his body and set it on fire.

"Not enough," she agreed. "And too much. I love you too much to say yes to you, only for you to find out after throwing away years of your life that I said yes because of the child and not you, that I was more in love with Matthew and felt obligated to you. I didn't want to be that cruel to you, to let you live in a dream world when the dream would end sooner than later."

"Please don't try to defend this by saying you're being kind, Mary!" His voice rose, but she didn't flinch at all. His rage threatened to boil over and he clenched his fists, but then the red mist faded. If there was a trait he shared with Matthew, it was that even though she was angering nearly beyond reason, he could not and would not strike a woman. He willed himself to speak calmly. "Shall I leave tonight then? And send for my things?"

She shook her head. "Only if you wish to leave. If you want to dash out of here, run down to Papa's library, declare me a whore and then dash off into the night, I certainly won't stop you and I admit I have earned every unkind word and more. But we will have a child to think of and I do love you."

"You love me second best," he corrected bitterly, but he saw her point, as coldly pragmatic as it was. As enjoyable as it would be to do exactly what she suggested, call her a whore in front of her often stuffy relatives and friends, as much as he was in the right to be angry, it was really the child who would suffer. Mary was well insulated from public scorn, Matthew was essentially impervious, an actual victim of the whole business, and he had no hatred for the rest. Tom was a good friend, and so was Robert. An angry scene, stomping off into the night, would just make him look like more of a fool. Defeated, he nodded. "And what of the child? Am I to exit stage left on that point as well?"

Mary shook her head. "Of course not. If anything you have all the rights, legally. Those decisions don't need to be made right now. If you really do plan to resume racing, you might find it easier to have me raise the child than have the need to engage a nanny on your own. The child will be a Talbot, and we can be reasonable people."

"You make it sound so neat and tidy, the disposal of our love," Henry said. He felt cold and sick. "You acting like I should be grateful."

"I understand why you're angry, Henry," Mary spoke carefully, "and you have every right to it because I am being very cruel. So if you decide to rage against me, or insist on taking the child as is your right, I don't have any right to complain. There's any number to cruelties you can rain down upon me. But none of those threats will change my mind, and one day, when you find the right woman, you'll realize what we didn't have, and you'll be glad that I didn't keep you tied to me for the wrong reasons. I love you too much to make you unhappy, and that is what would happen if I stayed with you."

He put his hands to his eyes, desperate to hide the tears. "The right woman? You're the right woman, Mary. You're the only woman for me."

Again she shook her head. "That's not true, Henry. There is someone out there for you, and when you find her, you'll know it, because she won't need any convincing to be with you. I am sorry, Henry, and the thing I am most sorry about is that you're not at fault. If Matthew had never been, if he had truly died that awful day, then I could love you wholeheartedly. But he is alive and I did give myself, my whole self to him. I won't be that unfair to you, to keep you tied when you'd only be getting second best."

"Perhaps," he choked, "I wouldn't mind."

"I would, because you deserve much better than that, Henry."

0o0o0o0

Tom waited by the pillars on the second floor. Matthew had taken him aside and explained that Mary had finally chosen. Matthew had been almost as giddy as a schoolboy, his happiness so open, that he really hadn't needed to stutter out the news. Matthew had asked him to stand by, not that he thought Henry would be so crass or insane as to attack Mary but because the man was going to need a friend. That, and Tom suspected, a firm hand to stop him from doing something crazy like driving off in the rainstorm that was still pouring down.

Evans joined him, looking grim. "So she's tossing our boy," he muttered. "I've got whiskey and glasses staged in my room."

"Who told you? I was going to take him to my room, its closer." God knew everyone would know soon enough but one reason he was waiting there was to divert Henry away from the guests so that he didn't embarrass himself. The man had every right to be upset but he didn't need the added humiliation of losing control of himself in front of people who weren't family. Bertie and Dickie would keep quiet of course but they still had a houseful of the local gentry who were opting to stay the night rather than brave the storm.

Evans sniffed. "No one had to tell me. His lordship is well into his cups before dinner, happy as a fool, and the stuttering mess was grinning ear to ear. It doesn't take much to read the scene, Tom. Am I wrong?"

"You're not. Don't call Matthew that in front of me again." There was remaining neutral and there was insisting on common courtesy, and he already didn't much care for Peter Evans.

"Finally picked a side, have we?" Evans shot back.

"In that I like and respect both of them, and I am waiting here because _Matthew_ warned me that Henry was likely to be upset." Tom gave him a harsh look. "If she's chosen Matthew then it's done. She won't change her mind and I like Henry far too much to see him embarrass himself by running downstairs and screaming his rage and hurt at her family in front of guests. He'll never live it down, and he doesn't deserve that. You know more than I how people will hold a scene against him… especially since Mary can hardly be faulted for choosing her first husband." In fact, while it wasn't much to weigh, Tom suspected the court of public opinion held that Mary should be with the man she married first.

"Agreed." Evans said coldly. "But understand I'm not cheering on any of the Crawleys tonight." As he spoke, the door to Mary's room opened and Henry staggered out. He looked bereft. Bereft and lost.

Tom walked up to him and took him by the arm. "Come with me, Henry. Peter and I have some plans to help you drown your sorrows." He pulled the man down to his bedroom, wishing suddenly that Evans wasn't there. Henry didn't handle losing well, but he wasn't spiteful. Evans on the other hand had a nasty side.

Henry began to spill out what they already knew, between gulps of whiskey, that Mary had chosen Matthew over him. "I don't know what to do," he finished, his eyes and words miserable.

"I know what to do," Evans said. "First, to hell with these people, Henry. Come back to London with me and I'll have you back racing in no time. Second, it's time to take the gloves off. That man shouldn't even be walking around outside of a hospital. We all know it. Yes it's a shame he was injured, but it's more of a shame that everyone here is in such bloody denial over the imbecile in their midst. You should have done what I told you to do and report him to the health authorities. How right in the head can he be if they won't allow him to be alone with his son?"

Tom rose to his feet and suddenly Henry was standing between him and Evans. "Stop," Henry said tiredly, "stop it, Tom. The very last thing I want tonight is another fight." Then he turned to Evans. "Peter, please leave. I am not going to attack the man's competence. I've told you that. If you truly want me to race for you again, then turn around and leave, and never raise that topic again. Is that clear?"

Evans frowned darkly. "You're being a fool, Henry. But it's your wife, and your life to be a fool over. Good night." With that, he turned on his heels and left the room.

Tom handed Henry another glass of whiskey as they sat back down on the bed. "I think better of you," Tom said finally, "knowing that I don't have to talk you out of that particular idea."

Henry smiled just a little as he sipped from his glass. "I won't lie and tell you I wasn't tempted. But no, I have no interest in playing that card in this hideous mess. I doubt it would work, anyway. Matthew seems too well, and too many people would defend him, and if by chance I got lucky and he pitched a fit in front of a judge… Then what? Mary would have to agree to an annulment or a divorce, and she wouldn't so I'd be ruining their lives for nothing. And it most likely wouldn't work, because he's not a drooling imbecile, and then what would I have accomplished? Everyone here would hate me, including the mother of my child, and she would still be married to him and…. And I would look like a petty minded jackass." He gave Tom a knowing look. "Matthew isn't the only clever one, you know. I do know a little something about things other than cars." Then he sighed deeply. "Oh Tom, she has broken me completely." He began to sob helplessly, and Tom held him in his arms, as Henry shook from the force of it.

"You will get past this, Henry," Tom said, hoping it was true.


	17. Chapter 17

Robert checked over his mail in the library. Most of the guests had left late that morning when the storm finally broke, at least long enough for everyone to scurry to their cars without getting too wet. For a weekend shooting ruined by the weather and dramatics from the family, it had been surprisingly fun. The shooting had gone well until the rain came, the guests had handled the excitement of Mary's accident well, and everyone had enjoyed the afternoon and evening of rainy day games and activities. The billiards table hadn't gotten such a work out in years. And of course, despite no one saying it out loud, it seemed like everyone understood that at some point, the announcement would be made. Matthew had refused to do it at dinner the night before, that he felt it should come from Mary and that Henry didn't deserve to be humiliated at the party, but it had been obvious, with Matthew's quiet joy and Henry's absence.

Still, Robert thought as Henry walked into the room, it wasn't a total success. Henry looked devastated, and almost punch drunk. He stepped over to the desk where Robert was seated, his steps shaky. "Robert… I know you know. I'm leaving. I'll send for my things."

"It's not… necessary for you to leave so immediately." Although he would need a separate bedroom, and it really was painfully awkward. "Matthew is returning to Crawley House today to let his mother have more time with him, and he still plans to return to Chepstow on Tuesday." And there were so many things that hadn't been decided. He had the impression that Matthew didn't plan to leave Chepstow, and Mary was Downton's land agent so she could hardly move away.

Henry shook his head. "It is necessary, Robert. I will be staying in Ripon. The apartment over the car business is empty so I am going to stay there for a few weeks at least, so my things can be sent there." He took a deep breath. "I'm not planning anything ugly. If you were concerned, then don't be." He seemed to deflate before Robert's eyes. "I won't lie and say it never crossed my mind, but all creating a fuss does is waste money. It's a point I actually agree with Matthew on. Mary knows her own mind. She's made her decision. If I were to insist on say, questioning Matthew's competency, all I do is make things difficult. You're obviously well pleased to have Matthew back as your heir. I can even see why, he does seem a good sort of fellow. Between you, and Mary, any attempt to have him declared incompetent would fail, and it would embitter you all and there's the child to think of."

"That child will be my grandchild and he or she, and you, will always be welcome in this house." It was easy to say because it was true. Even better, it sounded like Henry was prepared to be reasonable. Robert could admit, at least to himself, that while Matthew could fight off a committal, it would make it much more difficult for him to ease back into the role of heir presumptive if he was paraded around the news rags as possibly insane.

And speak of the devil, Robert thought at Matthew strode into the library, still looking decidedly cheery despite the rainbow of colors his eye had turned during the night. Isobel will have my head, he thought again. Even though Henry had received the worse injury, Matthew had the sort of skin that showed every bruise in glorious color. He seemed taken back to find Henry there but didn't seem likely to resume the fight. "Henry…. I was… looking for Robert. I'm…. sorry about the fight. I lost my temper."

"I was out of line in what I said," Henry offered. That was true, Robert thought with a nod. Henry straightened up, obviously trying to maintain some dignity. "Mary has made her decision, so I am leaving, Matthew."

Matthew nodded easily. "I know… that any solace from m-me is unwanted but… I am sorry. I don't… I don't know what you and M-mary will arrange for your ch-child, but it… has not escaped me that you have… taken great c-care to be a father to George and t-to shield him from the… awkwardness. What… ever you and Mary d-decide, I plan t-to emulate… your example, in how I am with your child." He paused. "If you allow it, of course. The law f-favors you."

Henry nodded. "Thank you. Nothing has been decided but I am sure we will be reasonable with each other. I'm taking the train to Ripon, so I must take my leave." He nodded to Robert. "I'm glad to know you'll be welcoming this child. I wasn't worried but it's good to know."

"You're still part of the family," Robert said. An awkward part of the family, but Robert had no desire to bar Henry from the family. He liked Henry, he had been glad when Mary decided on him, glad that his daughter had found someone that made her happy after Matthew's tragic death. "As genuinely happy as discovering that Matthew is alive as made me, Henry, it is tempered knowing how this harms you. You are a dear friend, Henry, and you and my grandchild to come are always welcome here." Matthew nodded at that, although he didn't smile. Wise, Robert thought as Henry took his leave, it would like gloating and Matthew had already won the war.

Once Henry left, he turned his attention to Matthew. "I won't deny it, I worried that you might not win the gamble, but I am glad, Matthew."

Matthew nodded. "If… I had thought for a m-moment that she loved him more… I would n-never have forced her hand."

"What are you two planning to do now?" Robert asked. It was a fair question.

Matthew nodded in agreement. "I have to… return to Chepstow on Tuesday. Lady Barwick expects… my return although she understood that I w-was l-likely to leave her employment." He shrugged. "The money from m-my writing was m-making it unnecessary to work but I was k-keeping my hand in. She was v-very kind to me, Robert. She took in… a badly injured man and gave him a job. I d-dare say, I was m-more a hindrance than a help at the start. She s-supported my writing, she allowed me to b-buy the c-cottage I live in… She encouraged me to… write to Mother. I owe her the c-courtesy of helping her hire… a new g-gardener."

"Of course," Robert agreed. "But then what?"

"Then we… compromise." Matthew smiled slightly. "You're… not ready to step down from r-running the estate. I c-can wait. I will happily w-wait. But… I also made a life in Cornwall and Mary has m-made a life here, where she m-manages the estate. We will… split our time and mingle our lives. For now, I think that w-will mean my t-taking the train more." At Robert's quizzical look, he cocked his head. "She's with child. The baby… will come soon enough but she'll most l-likely prefer staying here until then."

"Are you making decisions for me already?" They both turned as Mary stepped into the library. She was in casual clothes and the left side of her face rivaled Matthew's for bruising but she otherwise seemed fine, which Robert was grateful for. She eyed them both. "Please don't chide me for getting out of bed. The baby is fine and I am just a bit sore." She gave Matthew a surprisingly baleful look. "I thought I would go with you. If we're going to split our time, as you call it, then we need to start."

Matthew paled just a little. "I… didn't expect to bring home guests…"

"Yes, I'm aware you're a man and it's likely to be much more Spartan but I want to go with you." She paused. "As I recall there was running water, a pleasant fireplace and some jolly pubs and galleries. If we're going to live there together part of the time, then one of those rooms will need to be appointed for George and the baby. And the nanny. I'll forgo my lady's maid for a bit since Anna is still too busy with her new baby and fashion is much more casual there anyway. I know you'll need to spend a few weeks there so I will go with you on Tuesday and spend a week and then come back here to tend to the estate." She stepped closer, encircling her arm around Matthew's. "I'm not ready to be apart from you, Matthew. Not yet, not after so long. As it happens, I think you're right that when it's closer to the time for the baby to arrive, that I will want to be here, but that will also be when winter sets in and I think we already established that we would spend winters here." She hesitated just a little. "The closer it comes to the baby's arrival, the more I think Henry will want to visit, and I must be fair to him."

"Of course," Matthew said easily. "I just worry that if I br-bring you back to Chepstow with all these bruises, people with think I am a t-terrible brute."

Mary smirked. "Nonsense. They'll just think we've had an exciting weekend getting to know each other again." They both laughed and Robert suspected if they hadn't been standing in front of him, things would have gone in a different direction.

"Perhaps then with your plans made," Robert began, but he stopped as Isobel strode into the room, carrying a wicker trunk. He'd almost forgotten that he had appeased Isobel earlier that morning by involving her with his plan to not only gift Matthew with something he genuinely needed but also teach his son in law a lesson. "Isobel, how delightful that you're here. Matthew, did you know your mother took me quite to task over how dreadful you look and how you've had several seizures here in the house, along with a terrible fist fight. So I proposed something that would help, and your mother agreed."

"I thought it was delightful, actually, and I had planned to suggest something similar when Robert told me he'd already arranged it." Isobel took the lid off the wicker trunk, revealing the puppy Robert had picked out days earlier. It made Robert smiled as it jumped out of the trunk and went straight to Matthew.

Matthew, for his part, managed to look intensely uncomfortable as the black, white, and brown puppy pawed his trousers. "I… Th-thank you, Robert but… I don't like dogs…"

"Oh Matthew," Isobel said brightly, "you're really getting a little old to make such a fuss over being nipped by a lapdog when you were five."

"I was four," he protested.

Isobel waved away his protests while Mary knelt down and picked up the puppy. "Four, five, it's not even a dog, Matthew, it's a charming little puppy. And Robert picked him expressly for you."

"I did," Robert agreed cheerfully, enjoying the moment. "This charming fellow is a Swiss Bernese Mountain dog. He's the pick of litter, with the classic Swiss cross in white on his chest and they're a very clever breed, used like the St. Bernard dogs to rescue people. I thought, when Barrow told me that he knew you were about to have a fit because Tiaa reacted to you, that it would be a good thing if you had a dog. He can be trained to stay at your side and bark for help…." He gave Isobel a nod.

"And I would feel so much better knowing you had him," Isobel said as she petted the puppy. "And Robert tells me that he'll get quite large so you can train him to haul your gardening tools in a little cart. It's really a wonderful gift, Robert."

Robert scooped up the puppy and set it in Matthew's arms. "The fellow who breeds them calls this little fellow Max, but I'm sure you could rename him. Maybe… you could call him Donk? Since you like that name so much?" Robert grinned as Matthew internalized exactly how on top of things he was.

Mary laughed, getting it instantly. "Oh we can't call poor little Max anything but Max, now can we, Matthew?"

Matthew nodded in defeat as Max licked his face.

Author's note - there will be a few epilogue chapters


End file.
